Test Ting Won To Tree
Charles Fleischer

Rifleman decal water is to Tiny basket liners as Strained yo-yo string is to?
Dark wool glowing is to Oldest lost oddity as First genetic engine is to?
Black quail taint is to Nut curdled paint as Hemp biscuit dominoes are to?
Steam traced paper is to Lemon ash vapor as Digital midget wig is to?
Eccentric brine mimes are to Electric silk slacks as Spark formed lava is to?
Sunchoked black hornets are to as Rescued orphan doves as Retold cat jokes are to?
Hand traced videos are to Braided rubber spines as Opal rain dancers are to?
Halogen anchor gong is to Annoying bread portraits as Soft bracelet lockers are to?
Old troll bios are to Select cherub echoes as Broken matchstick parasols are to?
Dome nine chariots are to Frayed lunar remnants as Fuming honey flasks are to?
Bluing assault operas is to Beading fluted flowers as Magnetic lawn tweezers are to?
Converted flea sponges are to Floating dog murals as Frozen Archie comics are to?
Molded road pads are to Crusty gumdrop thread as Straw ribbed pelicans are to?
Inflatable diamond vowel is to Single gender raffle as Groovy desert coffee is to?
Temporary solution radiation is to Idiotic witness mumble as Motorized marshmallow kit is to?
Panoramic utopian paranoia is to Aggravated pimp silhouettes as Unhinged gun sellers are to?
Homesick ghost pajamas is to Virtuous fly fungus as Royal sandpaper gloves are to?
Gangster hayride tickets are to Deer milk Oreos as Turnip fairy maps are to?
Glue gun porn is to Nocturnal cabin mice as Cab fare corn is to?
Speckled fish nickels are to Under water bric-a-brac as Epic snakeskin paisley is to?
Twinkie bungalow pranks are to Drowsy vapid oafs as Quantized cavern fish are to?
Raunchy snail kimono is to Coiled time dice as Smeared equator malt is to?
Metallic centaur franchise is to Transparent cheese chess as Spotted glacial remnants is to?
Sky fused pong is to Rustic mothers brattle as Granulated canister ointment is to?
Overgrown maze mule is to Mated smugglers hugging as Floating thesaurus exam is to?
Sliding coed sprinkler is to Soapy whitefish rebate as Precious lamb diaper is to?
Mushy acorn luster is to Lilac protein rings as Slapstick wrestler dialect is to?
Freaky plankton bells is to Rolling horse divorce as Morphing morphine lips are to?
Sticky razor sparkle is to Emerald muscle spasm as Glaring cat cipher is to?
Peppy unisex mustache is to Pelican fighter syndrome as Clumping night grumble is to?
Scanning paired pearls are to Ruby rubbed roaches as Satanic sailor flotsam  are to?
Glowing asteroid solder is to Ideal shark data as Failed frail doilies are to?
Numb nuts boredom is to Fantastic icy phantoms as Sporadic silk creations is to?
Crooks crow chow is to Loading spackled bonder as Gargled snowdrop blasters are to?
Outdid myself today is to Outside myself again as Outlived myself controls is to?
Venting shuttlecock upset is to Texting badminton kitten as Settler tested motels are to?
Prepare paired vents is to Prefer paid events as Pretender predicts fiction is to
Crunchy mental fender is to Catching mentor menace as Poorly seasoned lettuce is to?
Outside sidewalk inside is to Seaside outcast input as Sideways landslide victory is to?  
Compile fake password is to Compost world poo as Compose village anthem is to?
Crooked crotch blunder is to Loud crowd thunder as Divine vine finder is to?
Chucks’ wooden truck is to Bucks good luck as Sticky ducks tucked is to?  
Overhaul underway overseas is to Overturned downsized pickup as Underground onramp overloaded is to?
I’ll bite there is to Aisle byte their as Isle bight there is to?
Gnat gnawed wrist is to Boned show beans as See through putty is to?
Flapping floppy guppies are to Buzzing zipped dozers as Muddy bloody strippers are to?
Dark diagonal dialogue is to Diabolical dihedral die as Interesting circadian exposition is to?
Experimental flossing expectations are to Waxed dental traps as Permanent impermanence resolution is to?  
Outran ringside intrigue is to Sidetracked onboard boatload as Loaded firearm topside is to?
Phony floozy phone is to Chewy ego honey as Yogi Mama’s dada is to?
Nimble teardrop squiggle is to Humble cage curtains as Loyal truckstop morals are to?
Torching curled elastic is to Sonic neighbor clamor as Golden droplet integers are to?
Duplex pupil scanners are to Nacreous cloud clocks as Shrouded flute shops are to?
Lawn rocket tendrils are to Finding surreal borders as Sheep monarchs children is to?
Gloating ungloved squires are to Busting double doubters as Pushing woeful doctors are to?
Tricking snowbelt firedogs is to Panmixing blackened haywires as Unclothed shameful leaders are to?
Malicious ranch ritual is to Internal puppet bubble as Ornate underworld masquerade is to?
Rustic debonair Eskimos are to Mindless sassy elves as Gorgeous somber acrobats are to?
Learned earthy pimps are to Fearless sneaky Queens as Somber gentle vagrants are to?
Shocking horse wear is to Glossy sled fluid as Damaged chipmunk tongue is to?
Traditional agony chart is to Damp voodoo motel as Backwoods museum quote is to?
Magical cat cabin is to Dapper porpoise humor as Malicious graveyard foam is to?
Therapeutic gazelle cushion is to Stored alibi equipment as Stunning tempo light is to?
Fantastic rascal art is to Wasted prune dust as Jupiter’s midget law is to?
Little nut razor is to Gigantic hyena shield as Hourglass pillow fever is to?
Coiled rain clouds are to Dizzy tycoon clowns as Lime eating cowards are to?
Possessive epicurean demonstrators are to Faded eavesdropping giants as Determined swanky drunks are to?
Aquatic preview pocket is to Soggy judicial topiary as Finicky hamster fabric is to?
Enlarged fruit cuff is to Obedient mumbling orchestra as Dark tenant tariff is to?
Recycled flash thermometer is to Botched temptation probe as Pet glider grid is to?
Seriously shy idols are to Costly driving perfumes as Ferryboat chapel wine is to?
Winged jalopy details are to Faithful spectral fathers as Sprinkled mint rainbows are to?
Spelling unneeded words is to Sprouting donut flaps as Blaming mellow mallrats are to?
Eroding loom keepsake is to Magnificent accordion canoe as Dirty bongo fumes are to?
Souring violet ink is to Juvenile insult park as Periodic ferret envy is to?
Obedient boyfriend aroma is to Sanitized fat lozenges as Dramatic jailer garb is to?
Mysterious patrol group is to Dynamic maiden discharge as Captured hurricane ratio is to?
Lackadaisical bigot bingo is to Oblong care merchant as Expensive swamp shampoo is to?
Petite orifice worship is to Atomic barge pet as Plucked hair exhibit is to?
Elite officer wallop is to Automatic yard rake as Healing climax glitter is to?
Needless swan costume is to Giant jungle goat as Organic picnic napkin is to?
Leaky jet steam is to Innovative fascist whistle as Enchanting idol evidence is to?
Plastic mascara seduction is to Greasy thermal ointment as Attractive muskrat crease is to?
Lucky camel pills are to White coral Torah as Eternal stage clutter is to?
Roasted oat lube is to Sloppy rum glue as Nylon table debt is to?
Steep nook catastrophe is to Empty dome damage as Pulsing breeze powder is to?
Empty sack power is to Hitched buck stroke as Red claw warning is to?
Ultra brief slogan is to Yummy lab mutant as Pathetic ball armor is to?
Nauseating fish splatter is to Obstinate rectal twitch as Strained prick coffee is to?
Mezzanine intermission fossil is to Proven slut apathy as Golden duck shroud is to?
Civil tutors torment is to Thor’s posted theory as Yellow melon rain is to?
Immense olive raft is to Exploding kangaroo buffet as Ethereal witness index is to?  
Marching dark speeders are to Searing scribble fighters as Weed tripping sinners are to?
Seeping viral angst is to Aged hermit tea as Murky bowl nibble is to?
Condensed blister guzzle is to Pink dorsal pie as Lavish speckled runt is to?
Needy insult poet is to Sedated acorn trader as Dry honey zoo is to?
Veiled trust flicker is to Deranged poser fashion as Flat sizzle tangent is to?
Purified diet spray is to Nebulous wishing target as Thrilling screen dope is to?
Majestic ribbon astronomy is to Bizarre formation sector as Rebel bell gimmick is to?
Sealed dart whisper is to Green silk draft as Cold vacuum varnish is to?
Clumsy raven power is to Insect island circus as Minted mink drapes are to?
Curved map ruler is to Tiny lethal radio as Blue fused metal is to?
Inverted laser invasion is to Damp sheep dump as Puffy gown smoke is to?
Saucy Channel blazer is to Leather goat filament as Starched locomotive hat is to?
Broken jumper leads are to Disgraced mini exorcists as Designer shamrock caulk is to?
Tweaked poachers smokes are to Assorted sulfur pathways as Collected bedlamp trickle is to?
Twinkie bungalow pranks are to Drowsy vapid oafs as Quantized cavern fish are to?
Crawling battle worms are to Vibrating metal pedals as Mentholated matrix wax is to?
Missing meshed rafts are to Liquid rock pipes as Crinkled bean bikinis are to?
Tithing nude joggers are to Perforated buck fronds as Leather zither picks are to?
Fearing truthful cowards is to Rambling preachers mumble as Gazebo ambulance gasoline is to?
Shelving elder’s whiskers is to Poaching goalies pesto as Radical tricycle angst is to?
Mucky gunboat polymer is to Primeval maypole flameout as Cathedral greenhouse intercom is to?
Diaphanous safety prize is to Unleashed saucer lion as Dorky blonde ropewalker is to?
Tapered spring meter is to Silver silo mythology as Misguided judges medallions are to?
Alligator x-ray money is to Cherry unicorn water as Coyote cactus toy is to?
Cowardly dorm scrooge is to Atomized pewter script as Flattened spore smoothies are to?
Trash can yodel is to Flashing wired spam as Exploding chocolate pudding is to?
Sonar blasted bushings are to Threading ruined wheels as Forty shifting boxes are to?
Tiny balloon rebellion is to Softened square cleanser as Iconic soul sucker is to?
Harmony night light is to Spanish nitrogen desire as Squirrel cavern iodine is to?

Lazy winter secret is to Slow airport widget as Silly mustard binder is to?
Elephants raising raisins are to Microscopic lamb planet as Purple hay puppets are to?
Caribou venom vaccine is to Electronic lemonade choir as Demonic princess massage is to?
Beet coated bridge is to Fattened needle point as Mylar monkey spine is to?
Ashy ink dust is to Youngest rabbi planet as Orange cartoon geometry is to?
Cold green chalk is to Cobalt ladder farce as Dirty river filters are to?
Sublime sheep master is to Sleeping past rapture as Subliminal bliss jelly is to?
Ocean crust slippers are to Twigged germ radar as Popping sharpie scope is to?
Zen wrapped beep is to Oak foamed code as Wicked flashing sizzle is to?
Dew eyed sleigh is to Say I do as Act as me is to?
Humpback on hammock is to Ham hocking hummer as Hunchback with knapsack is to?
Corned flag jelly is to Draped wing chewers as Tripping swan acid is to?
Futuristic Rembrandt chant is to Almond likened meadows as Asian timber blue is to?
Nap in sack is to Flap on Jack as Ducks dig crack is to?
Flowing flavored lava is to Gleaming optic layers as Enhanced goose gibberish is to?      
Flag tied pajamas are to Saline checker choir as Speed reading quotas is to?
Whipped spam spasms are to Misted shaman scripture as Testing pitched bells is to?
Cave aged eggs are to Crowded tiger cages as Bloody wagon pegs are to?
Pigeon towed car is to a Man toad art as Wolf whisker wish is to?
Second hand clothes are to Minute hand gestures as Final hour prayer is to?
Slick wicked shavers are to Tricky watch boxes as Sprouting pine tattoos are to?
Waxed stick ravens are to Match stick foxes as Narrowed thermal towers are to?
Ice cave rice is to Laced face lice as Gourmet pet meth is to?
Diamond lane anniversary is to Space age appropriate as Time travel agency is to?
Lime bark violin is to Lemon twig guitar as Lunar sky waffles are to?
Fake rat fart is to Smart cake batter as Rugged fur tax is to?
Tarred raft fluff is to Flaked rafter dust as Lined liquor flask is to?
Flakes will fall is to Take Bills call as Broken maze compass is to?
First faked voter is to Entombed cartoon honey as Smallest aching smurf is to?
Fancy bared nipples are to Flaky fairy treats as Kings amp filter is to?
Bone window folio is to Whittled fake pillow as Little fitted jackets are to?
Nine nuts brittle is to Ate pear pie as Six packed poppers are to?
Incandescent playground pencil is to Elastic hand worm as Perfumed piano ink is to?
Opal shifting anode is to a Windup lion decoy as Pale paisley trolley is to?
Stacked black boxes are to Old packed tracks as a Throwing micron hammers is to?
Apricot bark furnace is to Merry Orchid Choir as an Ivory rinsing funnel is to?  
Narcotic honey nuts are to Slick flag toffees as Silk fig sugar is to?
Orange coin raisins are to Low note candies as Smelling balled roses is to?
Pocket packed monotints are to Tragic ladder hayracks as Ravishing speed traders are to?
Crayon spider resin is to Coral squirrel forceps as Wolf tumbled loaf is to?  
Silver wheat flies are to Width shifting wheels as Golden blister blankets are to?
Really tiny hippopotamus is to Masked fat podiatrist as a Sad sack psychiatrist is to?
Miniature Mesopotamian monuments are to Apple minted elephants as Raising wise ravens is to?
Lathered nymph nacre is to Sonic ion constellations as Concealed iron craft is to?  
Epic gene toy is to Ladies bubble sled as Jagged data bowl is to?
Bugged dagger bag is to Pop sliced meld as Atom bending moonlight to?  
Rural madam’s deed is to Dyed dew dipper as Eight sprayed dukes are to?
Jiffy grand puffer is to Floating altar myth as Vintage dark mirth is to?
Undercover overnight underwear is to Overpaid undertaker overdosing as Overheard understudy freebasing is to?

Black grape crackle is to Red cactus ruffle as Installing padded pets are to?
Snide snobs sniffing are to Sneaky snails snoring as Snared snipes sneezing are to?
Exploring explosive exits is to Explaining expansive exports as Expecting expert exchange is to?
Shrewd logic ledger is to Puppets dropping cupcakes as Placated topaz octopi are to?
Door roof tools are to Cool wool boots as Wood cooked root is to?
Bright fight light is to Night flight fright as Mites bite site is to?
Floor flood fluid is to Wooden door Druid as Nasty poop broom is to?
Accurate police photography is to Intelligent microbe geography as Condensed aerosol biography is to?
Cowardly cowboy grime is to Corpulent corporate crime as Bosnian dwarf necromancer is to?
Jell-O clearing shaker is to Brillo cleaning shiner as Cheerios bowling shields are to?
Mumbled mindless hokey is to Fumbled found money as Humming kinder bunny is to?
Daisy’s clock setter is to Lilly’s boxer toxin as Poodles rose paddle is to?
Watch Bozo Copernicus is to Hire Clarabelle Newton as Find Pee-wee Einstein is to?
Amethyst thistle whistles is to Lapis pistol whip as Diamond bomb scar is to?
Dandelion seahorse rescue is to Crabapple dogwood farm as Faux foxglove lover is to?    
Optical poppy stopper is to Polar halo lens as Day-Glo rainbow sticker is to?
Savanna leopard spotted is to Eskimo lassos kisses as Alligator lemonade standard is to?
Bill of Rights is to Will of left as Thrill of night is to?
Baptize floozies quickly is to Useless outsized nozzles as Puzzled wizard wanders is to?        
Chaps wearing chaps are to Chaps contesting contests as Consoling concealed consoles is to?
Quiet squirming squirrels are to Aeon beauty queens as Queasy greasy luaus is to?
Knew new gnu is to Sense scents cents as We’ll wheal wheel is to?
Blazing zingers ringing are to Wheezing singers flinging as Freezing finger number are to?
Lamb tomb jogger is to Dumb numb thug as Thumbed crumb bug is to?

Blue accordion casket is to Jaded scholar vomit as German mushroom circus is to?
President George Flintstone is to Funny Fred Washington as Abraham Jetson’s dog is to?
Google Desmond Tutu is to Kalamazoo Zoo Park as Zodiac actors Guru is to?
Swamp cradled whisperer is to Cherished drawbridge cello as Bludgeoned prankster outlaws are to?
Dukes pink mittens are to Smeared nest caravan as Miniature fire trucks are to?
Part too

Duck village avatar is to Corona garden ogre as Mini Martian treasures are to?
Melting razor anvils are to Phased tanning lamps as Metered photon spacers are to?
Masked vergers tagging are to Zapped roadies muskets as Cutting paper newts is to?
Popes pest dagger is to Turtle dawn bong as Dream bending tea is to?
Pilot’s vital vial is to Crystal pepper clouds as Red plastic socks are to?
Sleeping deco mice are to Dove pecked ginger as Stitched candy witches are to?
Vivid sugar nougat is to Giant clam tiara as Velvet halo omen is to?
Pawned awning tablet is to Coiled round poppy as Coal black slug is to?
Humping mole mites are to Crushed wheel arrows as Wireless flower syringe is to?
Ten spinning plates are to Tense pinning plays as Tents winning ways are to?
Cracked pepper shells are to Violent star static as Franks’ rubber domino is to?
Crown Newport pine is to Copper birth pods as Anterior hub stains are to?
Aqua dot motor is to Nine banded rod as Floral army ruse is to?
Looped impala tide is to Creeping toffee trestle as Erroneous aberrant hayseed is to?
Drooling troll doll is to Elk powered anthem as Ozone rat genome is to?
Short fuse ions are to Fixed mode divinity as Fabled frog moth is to?
Frosted Parisian scone is to Drilling phased phones as Fading alloy allies is to?
Bulging cream pie is to Nut drained pastries as Narrow tailed vixens are to?
Tapered wing tapestry is to Post gift tangle as Peeled strutting strays is to?
Faithful boater baiting is to Beak draining bone as Moronic intuition train is to?
Idiotic ditch clock is to Taffeta confetti hat as Foolish daffodil dialog is to?
Manual towel barge is to Orbiting bug cage as Rawboned reptile scales is to?
Chinese lace noodles are to Singing metallic chopsticks as Trapping mollusk jelly is to?
Spotted ice cats are to Chime lashed moccasins as Dusty cracker vats are to?
Synthetic pink fur is to Red ink crumble as Flaky flute fruit is to?
Silky clay feet are to Soaking collegiate dogs as Moth eating sheep are to?
Enticing plastic fumes are to Motorized stroller lanes as Zoned virtue manifesto is to?
Penthouse grammar trance is to Lazy naive critics as Dolphins heart channel is to?
Twin ballroom pranksters are to Floating old stallions as Stolen gold chariots are to?
Gin soaked map is to Operatic Rasta pot as Chasing polka dots is to?
Dithered zoo pixels are to Lavish slim brunettes as Foam bubbled lace is to?
Abracadabra focused pokes are to Armored flower jokes as Red wax lion is to?
Jumping measles cure is to Roped canal forces as Silver ladle equinox is to?
Apostle light cones are to Dormant pixie bats as Puffed white circles are to?
Morbid crayon secretion is to Warm parrot eggs as Wet baby horses are to?
Levitating geode wrapper is to Ornate foiled cobra as Boiling coiled poles is to?
Gagged rivals toboggan is to Salacious tepee atrium as Invisible spider tattoo is to?
Green witches milk is to Oiled fur boat as Fox blended muck is to?
Glorious spontaneous remedy is to Magi reunion ritual as Pasted adrenal divot is to?
Coconut hallway spray is to Fractal fossil pit as Bloated stoic boas are to?
Linking green puddles is to Vortex splash magic as Lifelike ram monument is to?
Fortified troll festival is to Moss playboy usher as Groggy fish dentist is to?
Candy ribbon bourbon is to Lazy sapphire wine as Zircon blossom bingo is to?
Kashmir bison catapult is to Cashmere mouse radar as Amish billiard champ is to?
Amoeba crater maps are to Sinking apple rings as Soda frog babble is to?
Dappled blue dachshund is to Apricot fire mystery as Frosted ginger club is to?
Splattered ghost dew is to Red court scholar as Pearl chinchilla talon is to?
Sequential aquarium equinox is to Opaque quantum liquid as Marmalade invader scalp is to?
Nocturnal badger logo is to Avalon nerve nets as Thickened raven twine is to?
Ripened seed salon is to Clock flipping skink as Shunning pitied pilots is to?
Barking circus fleas are to Clustered pod buzzards as Rock spitting birds are to?
Dove cage pharmacy is to Purple poison antidote as Cellophane cell phone is to?
Sap chained bandicoot is to Limestone saddle track as Raspberry butter water is to?
Transparent waterfall goggles are to Altered spark rockers as Tibetan flotation tourists are to?
Bug licked leaves are to Swollen star stamen as Gloomy neon haze are to?
Pick pocket cowboy is to Poisonous light bulb as Chrome topped trestles are to?
Fire pumped peppers are to Rat flavored crackle as Flaming orange poop is to?
Manchurian panther vodka is to Heated cat crystal as Pirated pillow puzzles are to?
Porcelain pine cone is to Neutered pelican glue as Stone age moonbeam is to?
Hallow weathered feather is to Willow feathered heather as Cathedral monarchs marching are to?
Reindeers teardrop cup is to Salty jeweled butterfly as Velvet martini rancher is to?
Altered jester stain is to Diminished chewing barrel as Insects graphite portrait is to?
Clearing atoned heroine is to Toy pusher pump as Flowing plumed clouds are to?
Sparked rapping pellets are to Sacrificial lake creature as Blurred algebra steam is to?
Nagging cordial lady is to Grave stone gravel as Meshed nylon joints are to?
Tall king yawning is to Fountain bottled throttle as Correlated cocoon elation is to?
Resented sparrow files are to Risqué kissing parks as Lewd mood covens is to?
Parchment heart paradise is to Elated well stories as One ton eyelid is to?
Minted twig quiche is to Complex moon tableaux as Driftwood movie monster is to?
Kerosene carpet gym is to Eve’s atom apple as Sprouting stoned smiles is to?
Chained squatter rite is to Noah predicted ducting as Neural gun unity is to?
Inked bubble noises are to Rooted lakers rocking as Royal soul relish is to?
Expanding panda verandas is to Commander Randi’s handler as Newest aging jails is to?
Cackling spaghetti twins are to Misted fortress fauna as Riding butter cranes are to?
Slapping knighted knuckles is to Calf chewed chalk as Phonetic parakeet stencil is to?
Salted fossil flags are to Frozen felt cushions as Quartz martini straws are to?
Hand traced videos are to Braided rubber spines as Opal rain dancers are to?
Historic dovetailed rewards are to Folded roach molds as Majestic cryptic fulcrums are to?
Terminal fowl taxes are to Sailing glued wheels as Creamed goat fumes are to?
Smashed cotton stockings are to Shriveled mango pits as Chocolate holiday spackle is to?
Bronze furnace crumbs are to Flaming nougat bouillon as Neon target markers are to?
Glistening shade plungers are to Scrambled shifting shafts as Cramped titanic nomads are to?
Unwashed orphan figurines are to Mammal bowling shoes as Stretched rubber vowels are to?
Snail etched lapis is to Submarine anthem cocktail as Protein discovery rage is to?
Elected duck blaster is to Jigsaw antler frost as Boiled car parts are to?
Diluted sun drops are to Hawk bone vinegar as Plundered shelf cork is to?
Royal opiate globules are to Flared platonic vessels as Flying brandy patches are to?
Tucked fish pillows are to Hazelnut chimney wafers as Obsolete holster charms is to?
Shadowed floating dice are to as Blotched nut color as Repaired thermal vacuum is to?
Graphite bowler’s patio is to Tanned yogi artists as Botanical glacier carvings are to?
Spinning piano towers are to Military dog medals as Caffeinated margarine crackers are to?
Pickled turkey wattles are to Thin rocket grommets as Sculpted stooge fudge is to?
Chalk nesting microbes are to Flapping pulsed banners as Pure iron loafers are to?
Magnetic water trout are to Manic teaching vouchers as Winged thunder sages are to?
Hypodermic splinter shrapnel is to Helical sponging option as Antique thorn javelins are to?
Charcoal toothpick points are to Pan fried peyote as Tribal locksmith ethic is to?
Banished Roman butchers are to Tragic squid trophies as Crumbling gluepot anger is to?
Bleached arrow parallax is to Airborne sneaker trajectory as Erotic fowl relays are to?
Scrambled fashion frocks are to Swanky swan boats as Failed pilot morphine is to?
Death feather archives are to Pork chowder flushing as Lackeys pudding trowel is to?
Tonal vipers vapor is to Patched spider traps as Knotted soap daisies is to?
Hang glider bonfire is to Stashed reefer gushers as Intergalactic pray phones is to?
Verdant skater verdict is to Rotting gourd roots as Robotic taxi doctors are to?
Flowing crooner coral is to Big banging microwave as Wasted termite parkway is to?
Lumberjack’s vineyard stopwatch is to Rowboats anchor strap as Chewed raisin nets are to?
Throbbing migraine strobe is to Telescoping fly pods as Suburban throat fudge is to?
Painted beast fang is to Toad gas converter as Rude bridal posture is to?
Worm smudged grapefruit is to Red moleskin gloves as Timid antelope retreat is to?
Dish location docket is to Privileged orangutan checkers as Brunch table rickshaw is to?
Mechanical piano tuner is to Whitefly calendar laminate as Paired fishing limousines is to?
Grimy fiddle furrow is to Plastered clown smackers as Card holster latch is to?
Supine maggot cargo is to Furry waterbed bug as Lavish nutmeal emulsion is to?
Polar slime awareness is to Sturdy gherkin tablet as Funky subterranean gradient is to?
Stored chimney tile is to Tingled gorillas mingling as Linoleum channel changer is to?
Botched boot clasps are to Vented dungeon vaults as Backyard beamer spore is to?  
Machete lug nuts are to Spunky pumpkin cakes as Patching ragged charities are to?
Vaseline trampoline murder is to Scottish sculptor goggles as Dwarfed mirror radish is to?
Soft mirage balcony is to Ocean thimble noise as Singing clouds cabin is to?
Crushing spotted wrinkle is to Cracking rotted twinkle as Broken racers linger are to?
Blank linked chapters are to Beatnik particle debate as Jubilant dribbling heresy is to?
Misleading vacancy bookings is to Flustered skeptic tingle as Oak trench fallacy is to?
Burbank coat survey is to Antique snowball waffle as Tinsel jigger vermin is to?
Wasted flyspeck nightcap is to Flavored quasar treaty as Aborigine biker frenzy is to?
Sliding shower latch is to Hidden snow catcher as Redden thinnest data is to?  
Combat poser stance is to Decomposing time prize as Surprising battle secrets are to?
Commuters depressing confessions are to Domestic sport fortunes as Computer dresses rabbit is to?
Hippie pipe piece is to Pierced pie groupie as Piedmont blue sharpie is to?  
Hillside sidekick duped is to Blindsided ironsides scooped as Sidestep curbside poop is to?
Winged sword tax is to Tented tribal trash as Wooden watch working is to?
Submissive dancers trance is to Flashing bulb séance as Glaring award radiance is to?  
Blowout dark fires are to Handout spark flyers as Freaky outside liars are to?
Dripping waterspout trout is to Dropping scout quartet as Knowing knuckle knives is to?
Titanic ear pop is to Tube room debutante as Modern courting lark is to?    
Roaming medieval shouter is to Knitted cake knobs as Coded zipper faze is to?
Lost knowledge knot is to Multipart dart art as Fijis Bee Gees are to?
Numb dawn cavalry is to Windsock chandelier apron as Macaroni mask reduction is to?
Violent chomping knockers is to Vanquished grouchy fighters as Ridge faxed copters are to?
Glazed funk holes are to Hoisting fruit ringlets as Spongy vouchers bouncing are to?
Roaming modern ducklings are to Blocked archdukes cracking as Sketching stitched smidgeons is to?
Energetic closet divas are to Naked misfit hunters as Wretched sloppy tarts are to?
Raspy brash directors are to Abrasive gene stingers as Trite wreaked writers are to?
Protective evaporation headgear is to Classy weasel broth as Electric pyramid shame is to?
Youthful governor effect is to Attic raccoon nostalgia as Jealous koala madness is to?
Ossified fur paddle is to Boring oval piffle as Cowardly dolphin vaccine is to?
Pointless juvenile lexicon is to Obscene gesture acne as Fertile zoom strategy is to?
Old alarm matrix is to Animated demon stench as Twitching kangaroo grotto is to?
Temporary insomnia quilt is to Colossal spurt discovery as Evasive universal mosaic is to?
Forged ledge trigger is to Hamper hamster transfer as Hobo fluid tremor is to?
Burning bush pilot is to Mundane picnic weakness as Placid possum gesture is to?
Crass combat chuckle is to Vengeful camper technique as Fuzzy squirrel wisdom is to?
Strange cheetah logic is to Tiger tavern chuckles as Moving yacht statues are to?
Absurdly named whiskey is to Friendly lesson catalog as Epic apex rapture is to?
Sugar card war is to Moldy failed weapon as Roaring jumper hare is to?
Forked valley resentment is to Yellow teenage laundry as Cured paper socks are to?
Purple kissing frog is to Damaged cantaloupe experiment as Dented tin marinade is to?
Early zit rash is to Folded scenery stitch as Mind gutter gauze is to?
Orbiting robot amendment is to Radiant muzzle radius as Synthesized dignity therapy is to?
Buffed lute fingers are to Pickled gonad cream as Burnished clock rods are to?
Coyote dream filter is to Heartbreaking hate reserve as Festive verse fallacy is to?
Red amulet agony is to Sad patchwork melody as Cliff monkey election is to?
Ultra lash victory is to Historic page vaccine as Massive portal echo is to?
Spooky lobby notebook is to Noisy postal rat as Ancient crash pony is to?
Cultivated ghoul absorption is to Rustling warehouse treaties as Branded crab romance is to?
Reasonable plant yammer is to Black pelt bandanna as Rejected omen code is to?
Plaster acre sedation is to Lake nesting loon as Orchid pizza machine is to?
Acoustic whirlpool melody is to Mute stingray vengeance as Throbbing dew terror is to?
Worn rocks tundra is to Spicy tethered nurse as Fused mountain nexus is to?
X-ray sleeping leash is to Bursting lantern pajamas as Fake owl hip is to?
Matted clam tendril is to Renaissance glory bug as Royal saltine raiders are to?
Nervous curator debacle is to Cracked screen portrait as Burnt walnut icon is to?
Moist corduroy slippers are to Silver train tracks as Deviled fart repellant is to?
Snooping marked legend is to Maize willow salve as Shiny hard redwood is to?
Agnostic preacher overlap is to Hypnotic cell elation as Healthy pimp peaches are to?
Fancy hat jitters are to Long distance lather as Bargain glamour twine is to?
Automatic trance legacy is to Stalled coal car as Brain train translation is to?
Bonking glitter logs are to Lyrical fudge mishap as Vacant urban posse is to?
Sewage charged water is to Excessive yawn adage as Woozy flower lunch is to?
Pioneer baby spook is to Ambitious furniture lab as Untested swamp bread is to?
Savoy beach waffles are to Vivacious humming needles as Muddy collar oration is to?
Muffled crouching teacher is to Funky drunken gator as Mango lock narration is to?
Smoky sewer sentiment is to Shrewd dinning diva as Toasted rose pasties are to?
Rude polar scar is to Rabid rat agony as Singed lace scarf is to?
Beeping spiral flavor is to Fabled burning table as Raging verse vengeance is to?
Grinding rumble mutant is to Grotesque banker spleen as Tainted ranch banister is to?
Converging lettuce fever is to Pegged shuttle shuffle as Severed server franchise is to?
Cheerful sperm juggler is to Alley joke hunter as Shifting gear leakage is to?
Remote blossom intern is to Linked track contraband as Mad plant piano is to?
Chubby crap face is to Secreting meth rod as Narrow arrow kook is to?
Quiet prom function is to Outdated bubble charger as Melted fractal trap is to?
Pretty egg tranquilizer is to Fused pain manger as Pet poker token is to?
Blind rhino taboo is to Matched knob rage as Adult barrel jelly is to?
Heroic supper rash is to Blazing pulp jam as Holly spiral mosaic is to?
Accidental stereo flag is to Ranting brainless mail as Hairy flying wand is to?
Red rayed tide is to Pine striped road as Dog carrot wine is to?
Garden snake addiction is to Garter belt adhesive as Shocking poster poses are to?
Masked shovel plate is to Wigwam jawbone fate as Torn raven quilts are to?
Ski musk jingle is to Red braid pilot as Screw top plowing is to?
Rat hole tachometer is to Foxtail hoof ramp as Sorted function folio is to?
Canned winding train is to Lotus toupee glue as Catfish worm jumble is to?
Tornado gremlin muslin is to Rocket launched emblems as Mighty snow batons are to?
Pitchfork dialogue jabber is to Gumshoe drama symbol as Sublime papal draft is to?
Planning genies arrival is to Railed pocket lock as Sneaky muscle ache is to?
Jealous French cows are to Sympathetic feather ragas as Peacock dart blocks are to?
Painted bathing brackets are to Frosted opera glasses as Foiled labcoat buttons are to?
Shiny leafworm droppings are to Vibrating caramel candy as Activated sidewalk figurines are to?
Obese moth month is to Sportsman’s squirting lacquer as Arsenic shampoo jackets are to?
Blazing email slippers are to Cleated sunbeam flippers as Pretty flecked apricots are to?
Soaring flowers swaying are to Funky fungal holes as Abominable abdominal anomaly is to?
Clawed fauna germ is to Washing focused groups as Urban turbine turban is to?
Organic water spouts are to Magnetic peach melodies as Thunder winged sages are to?
Dinosaur valley comet is to Honey wagon fiber as Cracked brownie canoe is to?
Sapphire bayonet gaze is to Superman’s witch shop as Whistling ego chivalry is to?
Fumbling trucker carousel is to Rainbow shrimp sabotage as Storable falcon wigs are to?
Mayan anvil storage is to Immoral stingray salute as Cloud plated wishbone is to?
Nocturnal zebra whiskey is to Stinging graphite romance as Comical champ euphoria is to?
Curvy dowel deviant is to Pudgy mudlark cereal as Roaming stinkbug fever is to?
Captive boat musket is to Forbidden freak eyeball as Bleached frog dynasty is to?
Foaming leotard syrup is to Honeycombed curtain equation as Caged wolf thunder is to?
Tropical bumpkin strobe is to Vanishing backbone virus is to as Hysterical blowgun implants are to?
Zinc camel varnish is to Clustered doorman slumber as Frowning polar bugs are to?
Enamel helix fulcrum is to Halibut sex window as Swollen cherub jargon is to?
Dazed fawn jury is to Hysterical sneeze fatigue as Fastest stolen jewel is to?
Faulty isometric umbrella is to Wooden bead catapult as Welded porch font is to?
Unlocked mucilage scraping is to Oversized peon craft as Flashing penny dish is to?
Penguin iodine parody is to Organic plumber toast as Fat stinky sulfur is to?
Twisted bathing sword is to Shameful basin claim as Throbbing pimento cover-up is to?
Mutant bread spheres are to Pastrami dog triangles as Whirling fist novellas are to?
Wispy cracker gravity is to Crusty peaches lane as Blazing lava train is to?
Grungy hound radio is to Thermal butcher twitch as Rustling rhombic sail is to?
Fractured plum clarinet is to Cork bolt combat as Horsefly court dispatch is to?
Junkyard campfire choir is to Ravenous pancake scouts as Glamorous sleigh glow is to?
Checkered praline blisters are to Hydroponic blues riffs as Time tower silhouette is to?
Naked car dealer is to Master mist lute as Ten pound marionette is to?
Diaphanous safety prize is to Unleashed saucer lion as Dorky blonde ropewalker is to?
Empty fedora cabinet is to Fragrant cutworm escort as Swollen cupcake auction is to?
Smoldering crop lights are to Silent condo drones as Bald pepper cures are to?
Rowdy locket politics are to Skinny Buddha Frisbees as Ripped dandelion tablets are to?  
Curved market cuticles are to Frozen Koala clichés as Vulcan applesauce spoons are to?
Bipolar owl capsules are to Heated boltneck tokens as Garish iceboat anchors are to?
Flatworm wartime pathways are to Racy lemon moccasins as Downy patch bait is to?
Rustic love montage is to Slanted emerald buildings as Mandatory climate insulation is to?
Chunky map monitors are to Sparkling microwave water as Scarce chair furrows are to?
Sinus signal fractions are to Sneaky fishpond bridges as Skylight doll signals are to?
Glowing calculator comet is to Bleeding starfish galaxy as Crushed steam fuses are to?
Lincoln Canyon fog is to Washington canned frog as Carters livid thrills are to?
Pony licked paisley is to Stoic solo syrup as Squatting buffoon allergies is to?
Trolled onyx pitfall is to Kazoo playing pythons as Porky’s pixel pylons are to?
Pleated heat generator is to Whistling wet spots as Frozen tears pier is to?
Perverted camp dog is to Intruding skillet seizure as Golden radio mattress is to?
Fat drained hotel is to Rattled brain lotto as Fedora lane auto is to?
Chrome eagle ballet is to Cortisone hawk banquet as Jade raccoon shampoo is to?
Hilarious rail guard is to Soiled whale apparel as Cove boner taffy is to?
Fluorescent tofu babies are to Denim elf slacks as Coned ray envy is to?
Snake shoe riddles are to Mood beam blues as Author enhanced dice are to?
Victorian slaw burger is to Roaming multiplication typos as Random sword fungus is to?
Lemon snow cloud is to Sadistic loan relish as Pasting red gravel is to?
Noisy snail missile is to Perfumed sativa diva as Powdered apple heart is to?
Fainting vapor spectrum is to Nylon pants wizard as Barking moss slag is to?
Darting lakes paranoia is to Sanitary bee artist as Stubborn weather oven is to?
Sunbeam archery mint is to Eden’s needy maidens as Yellow rhinoceros tweezers are to?
Ravishing blue radish is to Puffing fish livers as Dazed cone carpet is to?
Dismal rehearsal reversal is to Captured captains caption as Recording garden porn is to?  
Shady gazebos flies are to Kooky cob jobs as Cooing nettle gnats are to?
Huge owl bones are to Linked boats bobbing as Weaved wings flapping are to?
Chronic cyclone blaster is to Lustered rustic phone as Cunning comet camels are to?
Hot tonic tuners are to Western sponge portraits as Chiseled creeping leap is to?    
Fat doe cakes are to Growing cat masks as Sexy horned elk are to?
Bleak nights stationed is to Danish beak vaccine as Kabbalah dart elixir is to?
Fluted basin thread is to Corduroy dinosaur market as Rapid radar radio is to?
Flamed Botox serum is to Foggy noodle sandwich as Swinging moon aliens are to?  
Genetic gemstone badge is to Wolf massage cult as Juggling ghost sherbet is to?
Quartz pod cats are to Moaning crack addict’s as White noise needles are to?
Tender tenor boasting is to Cactus backed abacus as Minting tinted mittens are to?
Robot tractor tracks are to Stacked rusted rack as Paper packed slacks are to?
Open source code is to Open cold sores as Old oaken floors are to?
Moody swinging sliders are to Slippery thumb guitars as Official drooling fool is to?  
Drifting bacon geode is to a Timid waif loafers as a Nighttime slime skier is to?
Safe cracker baking is to a Demented crackpot dentist as a Jeweled jockey cave is to?
Red clawed snail is to Dagger tooth rat as Hot trigger ant is to?
Anthill mind trust is to the Ideal leopard squad as Harpooned popper squid are to?
Seeing orange coins as raisins is to Hearing low notes as candy as Smelling balls as roses is to?
Vampire clock repair is to Zombie walnut harvest as Testing rated robots is to?
Banjo mind cloth is to Black Swedish furniture as Indigo eagle ink are to ?  
Canned sedan shoes are to Pinecone trophy walkers as Cracked glass buttons are to?
Drifting banded disks are to Raised ridge nuggets as Prehistoric hut crackers are to?
Stone forest sinks are to Rock garden tubs as Dragon moon whistles are to?
Green serpent droplets are to Cliff side graphics as Cellophane mountain sandals are to?
Swindled Parcheesi gangs are to Looming shill jostle as Twin kiln glaze is to?  
Historic glamour poses are to Distorted cloud mirrors as Porcelain horse shoes are too?
Paramount’s adored spy is to Whipping pealed bubbles as Fortified glamour bus is to?
Targeted tram rider is to Drained moon memories as Stop sign holidays are to?
Flying slit finder is to Frayed felt scruff as Crafted rag muffins are to?  
Fudgy panoptic naiad is to Transitory poser token as Flying archer fugue is to?
Overwhelmed understanding overhead is to Interstate overpass underway as Head over heels is to?
Artificial artichokes hearts are to our Arthropod artillery darts as Partly sculpted carts is to?
Splashdown countdown sound is to Lowdown hoedown clown as Putdown downtown standoff is to?
Speak up standout is to Lookup hideout map as Cookout cleanup mop is to?
Gestalt parrot party is to Drafted mayhem module as Cupids padded papers are to?  
Insect infested vest is to Indoor inspection squad as Insulting gene razor is to?  
Inventing informed nation is to Invited assisting ants as Insisting intent pitched is to?
Doors Tool collection is to Cool boot inspection as Wood rotting knot is to?
Daddy’s bad mood is to Cool pool Mom as Floating moon boat is to?
Zoom proof focus is to Blood bloom poker as Last roof hooker is to?
Phony coughing coach  is to Bronze trophy laugh as Adopting orphaned elephants is to?
Gleeful stamp collectors are to Morose racecar drivers as Buttered griddle cakes are to?
Steel trumpet petal is to Tardy guitarist startled as Riming drummers rumple is to?
Squirrel scrotum ballet is to Sphinx sphincter opera as Lapping lilac labia are to?
Kool-Aid dashes are to Silly putty hyphens as Jiffy pop star is to?
Anointed cake candles are to Fixed ambition martyr as Melancholy collie melons are to?
Dog whisper suicide is to Seahorse action rider as Optical nightmare tickle is to?
Existential rabbit hat is to Holographic steward’s cat as Expired mental gloss is to?
Skipping rudder rules are to Skimpy dork doodles as Wimpy wet noodles are to?
Lumberjack mice cookies are to Cedar packet chew as Ladder back chair is to?
Chihuahua guardian angle is to Toxic taxi tangents as Graceland’s fur emporium is to?
Gazelle’s spooning sherbet are to Dragonfly pie squares as Black lizard gelato is to?
Spike Tesla spokes is to Billie-ray Lincoln jokes as Gomer Edison’s lab is to?    
Alabaster bastards placards are to Malachite nights kite as Junipers persimmon riches are to?
Pyrite left turn is to Topaz right angle as Sapphire burning man is to?
Snoopy's Snicker tricks are to Pavlov’s’ spectacle bells as Seed soiled knickers are to?
Cubic cobalt factory is to Nordic nimrod ranch as Mosaic Mobius stripper is to?
Lamp stand RAM is to Light speed hand as Male forged freight is to?
Training trainee trackers is to Underwriting overture gestures as Upstairs downtown offer is to?
Crazy drizzled jam is to Fizzing sheltered lamb as Lazy citizens cram is to?
Shelved shells shaking are to Skinny skinned knees as Rendered revival rivals are to?  
Polished zinc zeros are to Shifting zoo zones as Popping zombie zits is to?
Diagnosing deadly diarrhea is to Diagonal dialing demo as Diagramming distant diamonds is to?  
Combo comb cleanser is to Comics comp camp as Compacting complaint trash is to?
Pepper tree entrée is to Gum tree soirée as Dirty shoe tree is to?
Itchy scratchy spot is to Spicy icy hot as Touchy bitchy feel is to?
Raspberry cupboard surface is to Applecart heart attacks as Windswept cotton tunnels are to?
Smart part gene is to Tart dart thrown as Fart chart needed is to?  
Heartless monster costume is to Clueless mobster excuse as Mindless spinster rip-off is to?  
CD needy kid is to Seedy weed lid as Speedy greedy gringo is to?
Preppy hippie laptop is to Happy puppy crap as Speedy remedy ads are to?
Relaxing composer napping is to Reflex composure app as Complex exposure setting is to?
Comet tail comb is to Comma dash combo as Combat ball camp is to?
Madman mentalist listing is to Menthol mentor torment as Menagerie mending vendor is to?
Tin man semen is to Yemen plant stamen as All good women are to?
Piedmont pie platter is to Piecework pier pliers as Earthy beach sandals to?
To the store is to To the bank as Go to school to is to?
Outside sidebar budging is to Landslide sideline fudge as Graveside sidekick boxer is to?
Duck trumpet holder is to Moose flower stem as Beaver flute solo is to?
Donald cruises seas are to Tom ducks keys as Porky corked Stalin is to?
Hope shimmering ray is to Love sparked glimmer as Ultra glamour fashion is to?
Hunter ranged wilderness is to Pouring flowered tea as Mirrored smoking whistles are to?
Spoon valley calling is to Folding moon telescope as Holdup cream meeting is to?
Cars that roll though sticky sod are to Jousters sprung on fractured taras Sparking arks that sway and rock are to?
Sales are sold as they sell is to Tales unfold as we tell as Cities swell with the sea is to?
Wink won’t blink if he stinks is to Lance won’t boil if he foils asTom wont romp if he stomps is to ?
Flip won’t flip if he flops is to Skip won’t skip on a ship as Ned won’t wed in a shed is to?
A train of twin world twine is to A plane of spinning time tops as A ship of shifting sands is to ?
Sales are sold as they sell is toTales unfold as they tell as Cities swell when seas are jealous is to?

David Walker Dec 2012

written and directed
David Walker

the films of
Quentin Tarantino
David Lynch
Rob Zombie

There is method
To his madness

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                  January 2013              
                                              ­                                                                 ­                       first draft

1. EXT. Run down project apartment complex - 3:00 am

A dark, tall figure with long black hair and a trenchcoat opens the already cracked red door.

I'm looking for love in all the wrong places.

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
INT. Apartment 3

A typical roach infested apartment with a kitchen built into the living room. 3 GIRLS are on the kitchen floor. GIRL # 1 one has black hair with big lips and a curvy frame and she is wearing a pair of Tripp pants and a black bra barely covering her ample bosom. She has a flesh colored rubber hose tied to her left arm. GIRL # 2 has dyed rainbow colored hair, a nice smile, and a skinny frame. She is wearing a pair of tore blue jeans with smiley faces and cute in jokes written on them, also not wearing a shirt with a lacy blue bra on. She has a spoon with water and black tar heroin inside it which she is heating up with a silver Zippo with the word "Skittles" engraved into it. GIRL # 3 Has long naturally red hair, glasses and an extremely voluptuous figure. She is wearing tight black pants and a black shirt with thin sleeves. She is inspecting a covered syringe with an unsure look in her eyes.

GIRL # 2:
So, do you wanna do it or not Jane?

Snatches the syringe out of JANE's hand.

I'm not sure. How long have you been doing this shit?

Girl #2 takes the orange cap off the syringe revealing a small needle.

GIRL #2:
Since after I graduated. About 3 years. Liz you ready?

As ready as I am for dat sweet tang!

Girl #2 giggles. She sticks the needle into Liz's arm, blood mixes with the brown fluid inside, and she pushes the plunger down. Liz leans back into Girl #2's arms and Girl #2 gives her a kiss.

I love you, Julia.

Well, I love you too.

You guys are so gay!

Save that shit for the fucking customers!

                                                     ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
Other side of room. A greasy looking MAN with short faded black hair and a scar going from the corner of his mouth to the right ear is sitting in a beat up recliner cleaning his Uberti 1873 Cattleman revolver while smoking a fat blunt and watching some kind of high budget porn with Sasha Grey in it.

Sorry, Mike. It didn't stop you from leaving me and Liz unsatisfied and bored, did it?

LIZ and JULIA laugh. JANE has a nervous look in her eyes.

Very fucking funny you wore out trick! Am I gonna have to smack the sass out yo mouth?

MIKE gets up, puts out his blunt and walks over to the GIRLS gun in hand.

Or am I gonna have to give your little friend a scar like mine.

Mike don't!

MIKE SLAPS JULIA with the side of his UNLOADED revolver and grabs JANE by her hair.

Who the fuck are you, anyways bitch?

I was walking down the street earlier today and I ran into Julia and Liz. They went to school with my sister I think. Let me go!

So you're a young'n. Well you have some nice big titties!

MIKE RIPS off her shirt exposing her breasts. He begins to squeeze the right one. JANE SLAPS MIKE HARD!


MIKE lets go of her hair. Jane runs to the other room grabbing her shirt. LIZ stumbles towards him and PUNCHES him in the nose.

That's it! You little cum dumpsters are dead!

MIKE picks up the REVOLVER, runs to the chair where the bullets are and tries to reload. JULIA wakes from her daze. We see him load 3 rounds. All of a sudden the DOOR gets broken down and the dark clad FIGURE from the scene before pulls out a BERETTA M9 with a silencer attachment. MIKE FIRES 2 shots at him haphazardly missing both. The MAN LAUGHS and FIRES one shot that MIKE's crotch catches.

                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
2. INT. Next door in Apartment 2.

A MAN and WOMAN in their early 40's are smoking a joint and seem disturbed by the gunfire.

What the hell was that?

Sounded like gunshots. Do you think we should call the cops?

Fuck no! There is a pound of chronic in the bedroom closet! Just pray whoever it is doesn't come over here!

Okay. Are you gonna pass that?

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                     CUT TO:
3. INT. Apartment 3.

The smoke has cleared. MIKE is begging for death and BLEEDING out everywhere, JULIA is in a daze, dumbfounded by what she just witnessed, LIZ is cowering in fear, crying, and JANE just came out of the bedroom with her TORN SHIRT on and a terrified "Oh my God" expression. The unknown assailant has a devilish grin upon his face.

Godfuck! Kill me you sunuvabitch! Godda--

The MAN obliges. He fires a single shot into his RIGHT EYE.

Well, looks like I got here in the nick of time!

W-Who the fuck are you?

That is of little importance right now. Who are you foxy ladies?

M-My name's Julia. That girl over there (points to Liz) is Liz, and the ginger is Jane.

What pretty names! Well, I have a question. Will you three lovely young ladies gather round that despicable looking chair and listen to what I have to say, or are you going to run? Keep in mind I have rope in my trenchcoat and the fact I mean you no harm. I am just a lonely man with a story to tell, and the way I see it, what with that bruise on your sweet face, you kinda owe me.

I think we can stay. I just wanna know your name.

Ahh, but I am a man of many names. My christian name is Derek. You don't need the last for now.

DEREK walks to the chair and sits down. He waves the GIRLS over.

C'mon I just want to tell my tale. Look, I will put the gun under the chair as a sign of good faith that neither you girls or I will start shooting the place up again. Are we square ladies?

What do ya say guys?

They gather in the kitchen.

This guy has a screw loose.

Yes, but he saved us from our pimp. We should humor him.

I think he is hot!

LIZ and JULIA just stare at JANE.

Sorry, but he is.

So it's agreed. We will listen to his story, silently pray he doesn't rape us and leave afterwards.

The GIRLS walk to the chair. DEREK has lit the blunt.

Ahh, so you have decided to join me. Good. Do you guys wanna hit this?

LIZ and JULIA shake their heads no.

I will.

Great. Now, where do I begin. I suppose everybody's roots stem from childhood, so lets go back, oh say, 20 years ago.

                                                           ­       FADE TO BLACK        
Against black, TITLE CARD

October 15th 1995.

                                                          ­                       CUT TO      
4. EXT. Suburbia circa 1995.

There are three boys between the ages of 6 and 9 playing in front of a grey HOUSE with a white MINIVAN in the driveway. Little DEREK is a scrawny 6 year old boy with short brown hair and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figure in his hands. The 2 other BOYS ages 7 and 9 are picking on him and trying to take away DONATELLO.

Leave me alone or I will whoop your butt.

BOY #1:
Whatever! You are scrawny and lame. Give us your Ninja Turtle now or we will beat you up!

BOY #2 picks up a STICK and starts hitting DEREK with it.

BOY #2:
What are you going to do? Get your daddy? Oh, wait...that's right, you don't have one!

The 2 BULLIES start laughing. A look of hatred fills young DEREK's eyes. He catches the STICK and slaps BOY #2 in the face with it. He then tackles him and starts beating him mercilessly. BOY #1 runs towards the PORCH and knocks on the DOOR. DEREK'S MOM answers. She is in her mid 30's with brown hair and casual clothing on, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of "coffee."

BOY #2:
Derek's beating up Josh again!

Well, good for him! Bet that little pecker snot deserved it too. Now, Brad...why don't you take you and your friend on home before I tell your dad you play with Barbies.

My mother was a sweet ol' broad!

Okay, Ms. Walters, but you do know you are going to have to pull him offa Josh right?

(sighs like Brad)
I suppose.

DEREK'S MOM and BRAD walk to the front yard and GASP when they notice that DEREK has knocked out 2 of JOSH'S baby teeth, both in the front and broke his nose, which is bleeding profusely.

Derek Charles Walters! Get the fuck up offa him!

He hit me with a stick!

Well, now I'm about to!

She picks up the STICK and beats his ass with it several times.

Fuck you bitch!

DEREK'S MOM, infuriated throws the stick down and SLAPS him across the face. DEREK runs away.
He runs to a wooded area in the back yard as far as his legs can take him.

Do not weep, for on that day, I met God and Satan incarnate and it turns out they existed singularly in my head.
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                          CUT TO:

5. JANE:
Like a conscience?

Much more. These guys are in the room right now and only I can see him. Satan led me to you guys tonight! Who knows what kind of CRAZY hijinks are in store!

That's it I'm outta here! C'mon gu--

DEREK fires of his M9 1 time.

Now, listen to me you dykey, junkie whore. I have 3 more rounds in this motherfucker and one
of them is reserved for you if you don't sit your tight ass back down.

JULIA sits back down scared to death. DEREK regains his composure and is "all smiles" again.

Phew! I don't want to hurt anybody. I just want someone pretty to listen to my fucking story. Fuck, if you want, I will ask you guys about yourself later on, but for now I'm going to introduce you to my best friends.

Who are they again?

Ah, you were trying to pay attention. I will remember that. They go by many names. One can be called "God", "Heroic Harry", "The White Knight", whatever you envision as good, this mofo is it. He is the reason you guys are still alive.

And the other?

Ahh, him. He can go by "Satan", "The Rapist", "The Angel of Death." He's the reason ol' crusty here no longer bothers you.

So you're basically ape shit, right?

Pretty much! Now where was I? Ah...yes

                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                    CUT TO:

6. INT. Small wooded area behind the house --- Early evening.

DEREK has made himself a nice little HANGOUT in the woods! there is a trunk with tons of comics in it, an arsenal of sharpened sticks and rocks, Batman action figures, and a Game Boy Color. He is drawing a picture at the moment.

There I was in my element. Pissed at my mother, then all of a sudden, a deep, angelic voice rang out.

(OS...of course)
You don't have to hate her, you know. She loves you.

And then another, this voice sounding more playful and mischievous then the other.

But, for how long? Do you think she meant to have you?

Where are you guys?

And then they appeared.

A 13 YEAR OLD BOY with BROWN hair and a FLANNEL overshirt over a Nirvana T-SHIRT with baggy torn blue JEANS with stains on them appears.

BOY #1:
Don't hate your mom.

But, watch her close.

DEREK turns his head. We see another BOY roughly the same age with slightly long BLACK hair and a TRENCHCOAT over a Nine Inch Nails T-SHIRT with tight black CHICK PANTS with a CHAIN leading from his pocket to his BELT. He has a lip piercing and he is smoking a cigarette.

Who are you guys?

BOY #1:
Just think of us as older brothers your mom can't see.

Wow! I should introduce you guys to my friends!

BOY #2:

Why not?

BOY #2:
You are the only person that can see us. Don't go telling anyone and don't talk to us in front of anyone. People will think you are nuts!

BOY #1:
Think of us as two ghosts that give you advice. Don't listen to him though, he'll get you in trouble.

BOY #2:
Shut up! Or I will kick your ass again.

BOY #1:
Not in front of him. He doesn't need to see that shit. Not now

What are your names?

BOY #1:
That's up to you.

I'll call you Joe, and him Jerry.

Works for me, for now. Call us whatever you feel like calling us whenever you like. If you wanna call me butthole and him poophead, go right ahead.

Okay, but for now you guys are Joe and Jerry.

We are going to leave now. We will show up when we think the time is right. Sometimes you will see us others you won't, but we are always with you.

Even when you poop.

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                     CUT TO:
7. INT. Apartment 3.

And then I went back home and they disappeared. I reconciled with my mom and for the next few weeks I didn't see them. Brad started hanging out with me again and school was good. The years go by and still no sight of them. 4 years pass by. It's 1999 and my tastes changed. Instead of Ninja Turtles and Batman it was KISS and Freddy Krueger. By this point me and Josh had made up and Brad was in middle school. And so we go to where me and the voices meet again.

8. INT. Taft Elementary
A class of roughly 25 children in your average 5th grade home room with a stout middle aged gentleman teaching. JOSH and DEREK are in the back row sitting side by side.

...And that's how the metric system works.

(to Derek)
Dude, did you check out RAW last night? The Undertaker crucified Stone Cold!

Fuck I missed it. I was doing homework.


What did you say Mr. Jarvis?

Sorry Mr. Cannib. I forgot to do my homework.

Josh, Derek, outside!

The old man had taken kids out of the classroom before and they always came back with tears in their eyes. As we walked outside I heard a familiar voice.

If he touches either of you, kick him in the nuts!

I told you boys too many times! None of this shit in my classroom! Josh get over here you little prick!


Hey motherfucker keep your hands to yourself!

CANNIB begins to throttle JOSH. DEREK pushes him off of JOSH and KICKS the TEACHER in the nuts with FURY about 3 times and jumps on top of him while JOSH watches holding his neck.

(OS) While we see Derek's mouth moving

Look here, mother fucker. You think you can be called a teacher for drinking on a farm, fucking cattle and beating children so you can have Summer vacation every year? Fuck you, you spiteful sad man.

DEREK SPITS in the BASTARD'S face and begins to PUNCH him when JOSH pulls him off.

Dude, the door outta here is right there. Lets go to our lockers, get our shit and get outta here.

(Breathing heavily)
Did I just do that? What the fuck? Let's get out of here...now!

                                                    ­                                                                 ­                                           CUT TO:
9. EXT. Taft Elementary
A bunch of playground equipment next to an alley with a fenced in field. JOSH and DEREK are walking down the alley. It is sunny outside but about to rain.

That wasn't me that did that.

If it wasn't you who was it?

It w...

It really doesn't matter who it was. You got us out of school forever man.

You think so?

We are getting paid, yo.

                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                    CUT TO
10. INT. Chillipaqua City Courthouse
The JUDGE bangs his gavel. JOSH and DEREK are seen smiling and pointing at CANNIB while he is on the stand while LATE 20'S DEREK narrates.

And so we did. That incident pulled the liberal media's heartstrings. My mother may have been a bitch, but she was a crafty bitch. We settled in court on a 100,000 dollar payment to both mine and Josh's families.And the fucker of this whole situation was fired and arrested the next week for bestiality and had quite the collection of kiddie porn in his closet!

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
11.EXT. A small farm on the edge of town.

MR. CANNIB is pantsless with a goat. We see the cherries and berries come blazing by. Cut to him crying as he is being handcuffed.

                                                    ­                                                                 ­                                           CUT TO:
12.INT. Apt 3.

So you guys aren't goat fuckers are you? After all you seem pretty wild.


Hell no.

One time I was wearing a skirt and it was a very hot day, and my dog Rufflestiltskin licked my snatch.

JANE, JULIA AND DEREK look on in disgust.

What? I told him to stop.

That's just nasty. Another question and then on to the story again. How old are you girls? This Jane girl looks awfully young.

Me and Julia are 21. I think Jane is 18.

Ahh. Well that's good. The feeling I'm having in my pants looking at you 3 is "okay" then I guess.

You make me moist.

LIZ and JULIA look on in TERROR. JANE puts her hand on DEREK'S crotch. DEREK slaps it away.

Hey now! Not right yet you little fucking minx. I have a story to continue.


And so the years pass and our young hero, (ha, me) had grown older and the voices just wouldn't stop after his little incident with his pal the goat fucker. As he grew the voices grew with him. Derek started to become depressed and jaded with the world. He had gotten taller, a bit chubbier, and more handsome. And he had fallen in love. Problem is she was John's girlfriend...and so we find young bespectacled Derek: awkward teenager.

13. INT. Derek's room.
The room is a bit messy. There is an XBOX underneath a small SONY TV. A Micheal Myers poster hangs above his bed. There are blue curtains covering his window. His closet is open and there is a projector and several 35 mm films in there. There is a boom box with a Weezer CD case lying next to it. The Blue album. Derek is on his PC while Only in Dreams is playing in the background. On his computer there are pictures of vile death and pornography. And all of a sudden there is a knock on his door.

Boy, you better not be a whacking it!

Goddammit, mom! I will whack it if I feel like it!

Well you better put that thing away if you are because there is a girl here to see you! Some girl named Cherise...isn't that Josh's girlfriend?

Oh, fuck! Um...send her in!

CHERISE walks in. She is around 2 years younger than DEREK, very tall as far as girls go, with long blonde hair, skinny yet she has a donk on her. She wears glasses and has braces. Kinda nerdy looking. DEREK has a nervous expression on his face.

Hi Derek!

Um, hi. What are you doing here.

Well, 2 reasons. First one is, could I borrow your Bleach CD? That's the only Nirvana album I haven't heard. If I were 20 years older I would have married Kurt instead of that Courtney Love bitch!

I totally understand. Um, yeah it's in my closet underneath my reel of Eraserhead. Let me get it for you.

DEREK walks to his closet and starts rummaging through his shit.

Second reason is...well, um I'm trying to break up with Josh...

DEREK drops his projector on his foot.

Ow, fuck!

and I don't know how to go about it. Do you have any ideas?

DEREK seems flustered.

Why...I mean you guys make a great couple.

But, he is always angry at me if I don't see things his way.

I don't know why he would ever get mad at you. You are so great.

Well, I did cheat on him with Eric.

That fat fuck?!

DEREK looks disgusted.

It's like he knows how to respect a woman. Like you...but I could never be with you. You are...too...good.

Good? Like how?

Like...I don't want to be the one to...ya know...take IT. You need a sweet girl to do that.

But, you are the sweetest girl I know!

Tears well up in DEREK'S eyes. JERRY appears.

Tell her to leave.

I think you should leave.

I'm sorr--


CHERISE looks pissed.

Fine then you fat loser!

CHERISE leaves. DEREK runs out the door.

Keep fucking drug addicts and losers, ya fucking cunt! Who was the last one? The creepy 30 year old? Keep spreading your legs and you will end up with a little fucker and a man in prison! You're 14 act like it!

DEREK sits down at the desk with anger in his eyes. He reaches in one of the drawers. We see in the drawer there is lotion, paper towels and loosely rolled joints. He pulls out the lotion. DEREK gets on www.stileproject.com and clicks on the most recent link, the Pamela Anderson sex tape which despite being made public nearly a decade ago has finally been linked to Stile Project. DEREK pulls down his pants and starts jerking his wang.

You fucking cunt! You will be mine one day!

We cut to behind DEREK and JERRY is controlling DEREK'S arm.

You see what Tommy Lee is doing with his dick? You will be doing that to Cherise soon enough. Wait...you will convince her. She wants that dick. She just doesn't know it yet.

DEREK cums and takes his shirt and wraps it over his dick to wipe up. What he doesn't get with his shirt he LICKS off of his hand. JERRY looks upon the sad sight that is DEREK licking up his semen.

We will bring her to you. Me and Joe.

                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                    CUT TO:
  14. Maple Orchard.

DEREK walks down the street to JOSH'S house. JOSH'S house is basically a carbon copy of DEREK'S. There is a green LINCOLN parked in the driveway. DEREK knocks on the window.

Dude, what the fuck? Why the fuck are you waking me up?

It's 4:00 pm, mothafucka! Wake your fat, white ass up and smoke a blunt! I got money lets run out of town to the White Castle!

Fuck, man...give me a few to wake up. My mom will let you in. My Jew dad is at work right now so you're cool.

DEREK walks in.

JOSH'S mom opens the door.

Ahh, Derek. Your little middle school friends not aloud to hang out?

Just let me in Melanie.

                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:
15. INT. Josh's house.

DEREK sits down in the house which has an enormous living room and a really big T.V. in it in front of a neatly kept couch.

Hurry the fuck up in there Josh! It doesn't take that long to shit and get changed. I'm starving! Mom hasn't had food in the fridge for a week!

Why can't your mom afford food for you? You guys have thousands of dollars! How come you can't have food?

Melanie, dear...mother of my best of friends. My mom is a dirty cunt!

I knew there was a reason I didn't like her.

JOSH comes out of the bathroom.

Fuck, lets go man. I have the new Outkast CD in the stereo. Andre 3000 is a fucking madman!

                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                       CUT TO:

16. INT. Josh's Lincoln.

Leather seats, faux wood paneling, a Pioneer CD player, and a little rubber fetus hanging from the rear view mirror. The car cigarette lighter is being used to light a blunt and "Roses" is playing in the background.

Did you watch Chappelle's Show last night?

No man, I'm glued to my computer. Maybe one day when I can watch Comedy Central on my computer I will watch it.

(In a high pitched voice)
A re re visited my work today!

(Laughing maniacally while coughing.)
Oh, really?

(In normal voice)
And not just ANY retard...the king retard!

You are fucking with me. Was...Corky at Olive Garden?

(In high pitched voice again)

You are fucking with me.

Seriously dude.

DEREK drops the blunt.

Oh shit!

JOSH slaps DEREK in the back of his head until he picks it up.

Pick it up, brown eye!

Now fuck off, with that shit! I got it.

Give it to me, then.

Let it slide. Enjoy the marijuana and keep your eyes on the road.

DEREK hits the blunt super hard until he starts coughing up spit on himself. JOSH yanks it out of his hand.

You also need to quit making this thing run with your strong ass lungs.

(Coughing still)
What about Corky?

(Laughs hysterically)
Oh, so you want to hear about mirth and merriment Corky gave me? Well allow me to elaborate.

JOSH hits the blunt 3 times and passes it.

(Exhales followed by a tiny cough.)
Well ol' Corky was sitting at a table that I had to serve. My buddy Jeff was serving a table behind him filled with Hasidic Jews. Like you know how there is Eugene Levy and just slightly higher than that there is my Jewy dad? Well these guys were probably 10 times higher on the Jewometer. Like rabbi's or something. Real Jews, my nig. Well I come up to the table where our favorite retard, Corky is sitting and Corky says to his "handlers" (in full blown tard voice) "Gee, those guys have curly hair...and cool frisbee's on their heads"

DEREK fucking loses it!

You gonna pass that?

DEREK passes the blunt laughing like the deranged bastard he is.

Well, the poor tard said it really loud. So his "handlers" do their best job of telling him a brief history of Judaism while I am taking the orders. As I walk away I hear them mutter something about Haunakah. I go and place the order, by the time I get back with their food, they have finally gotten to the holocaust. Now, I think all he heard, like myself was the beginning and end of the whole conversation. So Corky sees me coming back with his fettucine alfredo gets really happy and breaks into song. Do you want to hear it.

More than I want those jalapeno sliders.

(In the best tard voice ever)

And he just kept on repeating it over and over. The Jews got pissed and didn't tip Jeff. I distinctly heard one of them saying something about a wood shed and someone beating him way too hard.

DEREK is laughing himself to tears and out of breath.

This couldn't have happened.

That's because it didn't! Ha ha ha!

JOSH pulls up to WHITE CASTLE.

So do we agree on a sack o six each?

Yeah, and a Hawaiian Punch...biggest cup they have.

Yeah that sounds good.

JOSH pulls up to the speaker.

2 jalapeno sacks o 6 and 2 extremely large Hawaiian Punch's.

(female voice)
Anything else?

Your number!

JOSH punches DEREK in the arm.

Fuckin' cocksmith!

Excuse me?

Don't mind him. He's a virgin.

DEREK has rage in his eyes. He PUNCHES JOSH in his nads.

Wait until we get out of the car, motherfucker.

JOSH pulls up to the window. They see a raven haired goddess with black horn rimmed glasses taking orders.

That will be 10.99.

DEREK is stunned.

Oh, no...you are fucked when we get out of this car.

They get their sacks o 6 and start eating them on the way home.

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                     CUT TO:

17. INT. Josh's Lincoln/Ext. Josh's driveway.

Lets get out of the car.

One minute...

DEREK pulls out a peach WHITE OWL and half a sack that roughly took 20 dollars and persuasion to obtain.

We need to talk.

JOSH eases his way back into the car.

About what?


Goddammit, what now Derek? Is it still the ol' I saw her first routine? Or do you still think she's in love with you?

DEREK looks hurt, but shrugs it off.

No...sit down and roll this blunt.

DEREK hands JOSH the weed and SHELL.

Now, Josh. Listen to me...Cherise is a fickle bitch. She is also a slut...A 13 year old slut. You are going to be a senior next year...I am going to let you roll the blunt and light it before I tell you. So in the meantime...

DEREK reaches for a CD in the visor sleeve. He pulls out WEEZER'S "Green Album" and plays "Hash Pipe."

(to the tune of the song)
Get that blunt rolled, get that blunt rolled, get that blunt rolled. I can understand why you look so pissed. You know somethings wrong, that somethings amiss. I know that you don't care, but I want you to know, that your girl Cherise is kind of a ho! Oh...come on and roll that...oh...come on and roll that. Oh...this bitch is a problem, she rubs it at night. Oh...you roll that blunt so...we need no hash pipe. DUNDUNDUNDUNDUNDUNDUN

Shut the fuck up, here!

JOSH lights it and passes it to DEREK. DEREK hits it.

So, ol braceface was talking to me. She told me she was thinking about dumping you...something about he doesn't treat me right...he gets angry when things don't go his way.

JOSH looks angry.

And I'm supposed to believe you?

You're a big boy, you can decide for yourself. She's gonna leave you man.


I don't fucking believe you, you son of a bitch!


DEREK gets out of the car.

C'mon old friend, don't let some stank ass pussy get between us. Now why don't you come on out of the car and give me a hug?

JOSH LEAPS out of the car. He tackles the shit out of DEREK.

Now that's more like it!


I will kill you!

Maybe you should give her a call. I'm going home.

DEREK turns around and starts walking. JOSH RUNS at him and hits him in the back of the head.

Now, goddammit man that hurt! Chill the fuck out, man. Bros 'fore hoes!

DEREK has a devious smile on his face.

You should think really fucking hard about what you said about killing me today. I have a screw loose motherfucker! Now, if you want to fight, there are better places. We need to go somewhere else with this. An unbiased environment. I tell you what, we can have a fight at the ballpark in Yolentangee park tomorrow if you are still butthurt.

JOSH calms a bit.

Then it's settled. We will fight tomorrow in the ballpark.

Fine then. I am going home now. Maybe you can chill te fuck out tomorrow so you won't be so easy to whoop.

DEREK turns around and goes home. JOSH is yelling obscenities while crying at the same time.

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                     CUT TO:

18. INT Derek's room.

DEREK is at the computer having freshly gotten his nut watching BANGBROS for 2 hours. We see him pulling up his pants. He looks in the drawer at his desk and pulls out a knife. 2 figures appear. One is dressed head to toe in black with a lip piercing and long black hair. The other has shaggy brown hair and a beard with khakis on and a tie dye t shirt. We recognize them as JOE and JERRY.

Put it away.

You need that knife. Do you think he won't put up a fight?

Put it away!!

DEREK slices his wrist. Blood comes shimmering down his fore arm. He runs into his mothers bedroom and blacks out. This is all shown from DEREK'S P.O.V.

19. Hospital room.
As his eyes open he is in a hospital bed. There are nurses asking him questions he doesn't understand. He sees the needle in his arm and rips it out. He lunges at one of the nurses.

Wanna taste!!!???? I wanna taste of you! Lemme see dat ass!

I had decided to ignore these thoughts, but the thought of having these thoughts didn't have me thinking clearly!

20. INT. Apt. 3
JULIA and LIZ are frightened. JANE has her cell phone out. DEREK leans over JANE.

What are you doing?

Why, telling everyone on facebook how ----

DEREK grabs her cell phone and THROWS it through the WINDOW.

Now listen here, bitch. No one needs to know of me or the predicament you three are in. If I see any of you texting or using your phones then you will be shot. Consider this your only warning.

JANE actually looks terrified for once and hangs her head in disappointment like she is sad she disappointed DEREK.

Now where was I? Ah, yes. My stay in the looney bin as a spry, yet unwilling teen.

Wait...what happened with Josh?

All in due time, my stoned and buxom friend.

21. INT. The Looney Bin.
There are pastel colored walls and a room full of stumbling wrecks. Teenage boys and girls on Ritalin and Valium. There is a tv in the middle of the room and magazines and colored pencils strewn about. One boy catches the cameras eye.

I met this fellow named Trevor in there, he was a half white, half dark boy with a bushy fro. Couldn't have been much younger than I. I struck up a friendship with him. He is very quiet and says crazy shit when he does speak.

16 year old DEREK:
If you give me your meds I will give you mine.

Have fun.

All the schizoid wrecks of human beings converse about how hard their lives have been, all the while Trevor has a strange look in his eyes.

So what makes you happy, Trevor?

Rape and violence.

(Raises eyebrow)
What was that?

(Rather quietly)
Peace and silence.

Oh, really?

You must have misread me.

COUNSELFUCK writes on his notepad.

23. Same Looney Bin Place Different Looney Bin Time.
DEREK is sleeping.
TREVOR is trying to pick the lock of the window with a paperclip and a plastic knife.
DEREK awakens.

I've been up for 3 days, and I (yelling) FINALLY GOT THE FUCK TO SLEEP! what THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

I'm trying to get the fuck out of here!

Dude! Why? It's fucking awesome here! There is a sterile living environment, hot milfy nurses, television, 3 squares and a snack, plus you fucking know you aren't the craziest mofo in here! Everyone in here is either whoring or shooting smack! There is no such thing as a "troubled teen" anymore. That shit died in the 90's when they realized it was all the trip drugs their mothers did when they were pregnant. This is a new generation sir! It's 2005! You have at least 5 years to go before life is shitty for you, don't speed it up.

They know I'm not taking my meds.

Well fuck, lets just switch back our meds! I don't need to speed like this, the voices won't fucking stop!

Okay, maybe we will get out of here sooner and I will stop acting like a sociopath.

That's the ticket, m'boy!

24. On the outside.

You got a cigarette?

No. I don't smoke.

Well, fuck! What good are you then?

DEREK pulls out a HEATER cigarette. They heat your throat with a 100% tobacco aroma.  He lights it.

You know what? I could use a guy like you in my corner when the voices start acting up again.

What do you mean?

(Takes a long drag off his Heater)
You could tell me what not to do. Keep me cool. Jerry is a swift bastard, he is!

Who the fuck is Jerry?

In due time you will find out. Jerry likes you though. Joe likes you too. They never agree on anything, which means you are cool. Just keep your head when things go awry.

What the fuck are you on?

(flicks his cigarette)
Life and everything in it!

DEREK's car pulls up. It's JOSH in his Lincoln.

Dammit fuck brain, you were right!

I fucking told you!

DEREK acknowledges TREVOR.

This is my childhood pal Josh.


What kind of crazy are you?

Not his kind, I assure you.

DEREK gets in the car.

I will see you around, man. I got work to do!

JOSH speeds out of the parking lot.

                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                    CUT TO:

25. INT. APT. 3

So that's it? That's how you guys made up?

Well, I did make a phone call to him the previous day.

                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                    CUT TO:

26, Nuthouse the day before

DEREK picks up the phone.

Hey, man. You still mad?

(On the phone)
Nope. You were right. Dumb cunt left me for a 20 year old.

Kids these days, eh? I have a situation. I am inside the institute for the criminally insane and I need you to give me a ride out of here.

Why are you in there for?

My arms. Threatening nurses. Depression.

Goddammit you big fucking emo! I will be there soon.
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                               CUT TO:

27. INT. Apt. 3

Ah, makes sense.

So, you had a rough time in your teenage years, didn't ya?

The rough times didn't even begin yet...eh...

DEREK looks over at LIZ who looks to be passed out.

Julia...is she dead?

JULIA shakes her. LIZ throws up


She's fine.

Well, wake her ass up!

I can't she is uber stoned.

I can wake her up.

DEREK takes off his trenchcoat and unzips his pants. He pulls down her pants revealing a plump, perfect ass. He turns her over and starts fucking her hard. JANE looks extremely jealous.

Wake up. bitch!

LIZ starts to wake up, but doesn't tell him to stop. She moans uncontrollably.


By this point both JANE and JULIA are masturbating and they start eating each other out. DEREK is going so hard LIZ' tit pops out. He pulls out and sticks his dick in LIZ' beautiful mouth, choking her on his cock.

(choking and slurping)

Taste that cock! You're next Julia!

JULIA stops eating JANE. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. DEREK pulls out of LIZ' mouth and cums all over her face. DEREK slaps her and spits on her face.

Stay awake!

Hide the scars,
don't let them see.
They'll call you a slut,
just as they please.

You drink Starbucks,
you take selfies.
You're a White Girl,
you see.

You're hair is red
with your Irish genes.
You are a ginger
with no soul in thee.

Your skin is colored,
your hair so dark.
You are a criminal,
that's how they see.

I really hate some of the stereotypes out there, honestly.
Maggie Emmett Nov 2014

Ginger nut crunch base
creamy Philly cheese
bitter tart lemon filling
birthday cheesecake
tongue tasty sweet when we kiss

A non-traditional taste Tanka
Mokomboso Oct 2014

My hair is a mop hanging over my crown
The shade of standard mammalian brown
I am envious of your tresses
Over your face is a redheaded swirl,
Gradating into your dreadlocked shawl
Tendrils of auburn drag along the floor like a high wizard’s gown
If I had your hair I would knot each section into braids
Weave it with bobbles and beads
I could take a curler to my cape, straighteners to my legs
I’ve always been a fan of the redhead, pre-Raphaelite waves
Reds and yellows and oranges cascade
You take it to another level though, and boy
It is most enviable!
I would ask that we swap, but with my fur pattern you’d look quite odd
With a blackish flannel hanging on your head
And the odd patch of wiry moss 'tween your legs
And I must say I would look a bit daft
With a crimped ginger trench coat swamping my back!
So I shall just say, Mr. orang-utan
Your hair is great!

Orangutans have badass hair. That is all.
ioan pearce Mar 2010

discrimination is within.....
us all i'm sad to say
black, short, tall,or ginger
rich, poor, bald or gay

judgemental in appearance
is human nature true
before you make your mind up
take a look at you

Ashley Swamy Aug 2014

I miss those hot Saigon nights,
Where I would sleep in the wake of your ginger tea.

Now all I am left,
Is With Dublin's rickety pier,
That provokes me to slip and slide with the rain.

And I can no longer smell your sweet ginger tea.

Random, but I love Saigon
Emily Von Shultz Nov 2010

I've got my eyes slighty squinted,
as we spin round on a carnival ride.
I can almost smell the ocean from here,
as it washes in with the tide.

I can feel the dangling of my untied shoelaces,
and I can see people's faces
blurring with the bright colours of their clothes.
I am wearing my light grey dress,
and we are both laughing,
our hair is tangling together in a ginger and blonde mess.

I catch a glare of sunlight in my eyes,
so I close them and watch purple and green patterns dance
against the darkness of my eyelids,
I open them to realize that
no longer are we kids.

We are in the back seat of your car,
it's 2 AM and it's raining outside,
no longer are we on the carnival ride.
You try to tickle me in a flirtatious way,
and when I say I have to leave,
you beg me to stay.
I say goodnight,
and hug you tight.

I bring my face closer to yours,
and kiss you gently.

You kiss me back.
and again.
Our lips begin to dance together,
Waltzing to the rhythm of the rain.

The scent of your skin fills my lungs,
and it adds a sensual feeling
to the embracement of our tongues.

Your hand slips beneath my shirt
as I pull yours off,
it feels like my heart is free of all its hurt.
Wandering hands in the darkness of night,
my eyes are fixated on you,
admiring your body in flickering streetlight.

Your breathing becomes shallow,
and I feel like you want me,
only me.
But I know now that it's just...

Austin Boston May 2015

“Children Attacking Stray Dogs with Tire Irons”

‘Reaching out her hand, she smiles. “I can’t help you. But can you help me?” Realizing there is virtue in giving what is needed, not in giving what you have, you walk. There, then, do the dreams begin. And they are beautiful dreams…’

Author’s Forward

“Tizita” in Ethiopian means ‘Memory’, and refers to a genre of music culturally synonymous with the American Blues. ‘Tizita’s’ temperament strongly resembles a specific real-life person, as most people in her narrative do; and indeed, all ‘street-names’ as well as their actual ones are shrouded in secrecy—to protect the innocent, the guilty, and anyone in-between. Most of these characters existed in a brief chronological context, but their memories live. These people had definite opinions, outlooks, thoughts, emotions, personalities, curves in their lives. Unfortunately, I must confess, the narrative here only provides snapshots; and aptly, the main character’s name refers not only to herself, but to all those along the way—memory being fragile, a singular moment in time, and in that way, somewhat empowering. But enough about the word “Tizita”— her real ‘street’-name (and her actual one) were more authentic and more poignant. It fit her.

Interpretations of Two Birth Charts, both in Leo
(*It’s wise to preface these conversations with a warning—contradictions are a part of life, and the contradictory things said in this conversation are intended to reflect the inner and outer contradictions of ourselves.)

    E: It’s interesting because your ascendant is also in Leo, but rather than being the Leo of the individual concerned with the public persona, it’s on the verge of Virgo, which is very communicative, it’s this border between the individual creating and narrating his own life and communication as a sort of communion, a personal religion. I see this balance and this jovialness, but the jovialness is disconnected from the rest of the chart. The jovialness comes from possessions, and with possessions comes physical materials, physical creations. And I would say that your unconscious perceptions of the world fence in the dreamer—these unconscious perceptions of reality. There’s a fluid balance between sending something into reality and reinterpreting it creatively, and you’re sending it from perhaps an ethereal place, but it takes time, and it takes practice. It comes from the soul level. It’s almost medicinal. A daily dose of something. Your moon is in Pisces. It makes me think of how you describe your mother. The moon is your mother. And Pisces is drunk in a way. Not literally drunk per-se, but more of an emotionally drunk; and interested in mysticism. There’s a coat around the mother. I look at my mom’s mom. My mom has the coat around the mother too, and I look at my mom’s mom and she was depressed and ended up dying of cancer. It’s not related to everybody, but it’s a spirituality. There’s a communication that’s paired with Pluto. Normally, I don’t think this is a focal point for people. It’s an understanding—Pluto is like Mars, but on a higher octave. Pluto can be used where you’re able to interpret multiple generations at once. It can also be used to interpret domestic violence or personal violence. And you have Pluto in a protected spot. It’s connected to your (IC?) and your IC is the soul. It is the opposite of the public image. Sometimes people have an overwhelming IC, and that’s interpreting the world through your ascendant with a focal point of the IC of your soul-level going outward and it’s almost an inverse. In other words, the outside going inward. And you have Pisces and Scorpio on the soul-level in a precise pattern. Oh, that’s funny. Mars is in Mercury’s sign, and Mercury is in the 11th house, in Cancer. And Cancer is nurturing, Cancer is home. It’s the father who’s super-soft, and it’s all the power of this super-soft father who cares for the big ideas in the people he meets. But it’s powered by Pluto. It’s a constant story—whatever Mercury times Pluto is—where Pluto, when it comes into Scorpio in twenty years, it’s what’s concerned with other peoples’ resources, what we make one-on-one, what we make as a society. It’s a paradox to me where the soft father is mixed with Pluto which is complete intensity. Any questions?
    A: Not at the moment…what do you mean by super-soft?
    E: Softness and malleable creativity is the same thing to me. A constant reinterpretation rather than grounded idealism. It’s more about nurturing and communication. But at the same time, a firmness in the way you speak. You have a soft outer shell in your interactions with others—I see that a lot in our generation, where we take the inverse of our hard fathers. I believe I’m firm, but I’m also--
    A: Soft?
    E: …crazy.
    A: It’s nice to meet another crazy person. I mean that.

E: I can see that she’s like a tidal wave, and the tidal wave is her public image, it’s the surface of the water, and as she moves forward it rips her soul apart. But that’s her face, that’s the experiences—it’s an introverted process. She’s constantly calculating something that nobody else can quite see, but they reap the experience that’s on her front, her voyage. And that shoots straight into her insecurity. It’s like ripping her pants—everyone can see it, and you know it’s there, but you just have to keep going until the end of the day when you can go home and sew your pants. And it’s finding that nurturing spirit in the experience, and that can be the experience itself as god in sex, but it can also be sex itself, which is an insecurity, pointing at one side of the triangle when the triangle needs complete balance; disregarding the actual adventure, the actual spirit, the mutual sacrifice, the mutual learning, because when you tie into that learning, that sacrifice, it becomes a realization that there isn’t a division between the natural and the human worlds, but that these are a singular thing. And you use this knowledge and these relationships that are in the human world, but are actually in the natural world as well. You can’t let go of it and say ‘I don’t want to do this’ because it’s still going to exist. That, I think, is the trouble with a lot of people. The passage in her life is about accepting that, and the transition becomes moving from other people, and that other partner, and being abused by that other partner, into a quest for the self, and realizing that she exists in everybody else; the networks and maps that you make collectively--you can’t focus on a singular other person, because when that happens, the map is still going to fly forward.
    This is the story of everything happening and you only paying attention to one thing at a time.
    She has a really interesting aspect—her chart forms a Star of David. It’s in all these water and earth signs, and that is mud. It can hold you down in a really grounding way if you’re willing to accept it, but otherwise it can be tedious and a pain. It can be wading through something, never enjoying that something. That wading through something is a form of sexuality.
    A: It’s an earthiness.
    E:  Less of an intellectual earthiness and more of an emotional earthiness.
     I see a lot of people have a correlation where the mother in their lives represent a spirituality, where the mother is losing but losing as a child—these experiences happen to them and they don’t fall apart or break, they take them as a child and it’s a nice lesson passed on to the person who has this aspect in their chart. It’s a strength in the connection to the spirit, where you’re able to make your way through it all. She has these generational aspects, and in her history, she’s lost a lot, where her mother had a psychological issue and the father was tormenting. She learned a lot of cultural values, street-smarts, and that’s part of a larger picture. That’s knowledge the way anything else is knowledge. It’s tormenting to the sense of self to be strictly surrounded by street; with no sense of inner knowledge. And I see the way she creates, this philosophy of trudging through the mud (earth and spirit), and I see how that corresponds to Austin Boston the poet; the way you try and put yourself into the world. It’s her whole creating essence—in her sun sign—and the sun is a focal point, and if you’re connected to somebody’s sun, you’re connected to their soul’s purpose; and your ascendant is on the cusp of Leo and Virgo, just as hers. So you’re able to absorb it. You act as shoes through the portal.
    Huh. Lilith. Do you know the story of Lilith?
    A: Tell it again.
    E: Well Lilith is Adam’s original wife, and when God’s law came into play, she was replaced by Eve. And Lilith became the snake in the famous story, and you can see that as biting back. The Lilith in her, though she’s been given all these tools and perspectives, the Lilith in her embodies her past life. Imagine looking at a flame, beckoning you forward; she has this snake charmer’s way of letting these events and the mud that’s floating around beckon you—it’s her way of coaxing the illusion. But we all coax the illusion. You know, I read these astrology charts and I hide behind the shell of me, and you write stories and hide behind the shell of you. It’s coaxing the illusion—
    A: For yourself and everyone else, so you start to believe that mask you wear is real.
    E: Her chart is really beautiful.

ONE (Vegas)

“If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it walls, and we will furnish it with soft, red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweller's felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.”
--Jonathan Safran Foer

So as you sat waiting for a tire iron on the I-5 between Tacoma and Seattle, you had the nagging feeling that all life is is a bunch of flat tires in hard and unusual places, and you guess then was the time to thank whoever was running this train-wreck-piece’a-shit-magnificent.

Got a spare tire on your car two hours later, with help from a buddy of yours Logan AKA MacGyver, and right about then you knew you don't know what you’re doing at all, just trying to make it, try things out, challenge yourself over and over to only come up a bill short.

At least the weather's nice, you joked to MacGyver. He thought that was funny enough. Then, like anything else, the battery wouldn't start. MacGyver meanwhile went home and got drunk and you found someone to give you a jump-start, only to find your spare tire flat from dry rot. You swung the Chevy off the freeway, almost got hit more than once, prayed, heard the rims hitting the pavement, found a gas station, attempted to fill the spare with air, ran into a lonely/ desperate/ potentially violent crank-smoker, got MacGyver to come back across Tacoma at 11 at night, drunk, the tow truck driver Tim, you talked to him about the tow truck business, unemployment checks, trimming marijuana north of Berkeley, how he used to do it, and how you were gonna do it before everything went so bad with your last relationship or friendship or whatever the fuck she/you called it.

The next day gave another headache or two, this time driving out of a Pepboys onto a four lane road, traffic meaner than a muthafucker, only to have your driver's side tire pop from the front of the car into the street, leaving you to drive on the brake rotor for fifty yards, the whole time just wanting to crawl back in bed and sleep the day away.

In any case, maybe this story should start back in Vegas four months earlier, a Saturday night cruising with a fifth of vodka on the Strip bouncing from casino to casino, taking the view in with all the tourists, the Strip itself a microcosm with the Stratosphere on one end taller than the Space Needle and designed in the late 80s to be astronaut-themed, but was mismanaged and now towers above Naked City like a torch to the dispossessed, on the other end Mandalay Bay which, like most everything on the Strip, cries out a classist chant of “Money can buy you happiness, look at our shark tanks and buffed marble floors and golden sinks”, the world falling off after it, symbolized by the airport and car rental return and miles of freeway through the suburb of Henderson.

You and some kids were just passing the time when on a bridge you dropped a Hare Krsna  card in the hat of a Head, dreads and a purple handkerchief tied over his head and his voice was angelic and he was bearded and sang folk songs, and he casually offered if you wanted any acid.

You had twenty bucks on you, so you said, “Yeah I'll take a couple hits” and took one and gave one to your dear friend at the time, Samwise. Now Samwise's a character himself, coming from Mexico when he was a kid and can't work legally and smokes pot (sometimes meth) and plays video games and listens to the Smiths and underground hiphop and punk and ska and is really into street-art, filling notebook after notebook with tags and sketches, as well as more recently poetry. Sam’s quite childlike, seeing life as a video game, and you suppose that's how you got along and you both love and despise that whole little kid air about him, and next thing you know you’re both tripping balls, driving around town like a dream, laughing at nothing and after awhile you started seeing colors and on a journey so disconnected from reality it was incredible that you only took one.

You got the Head's number. There were two of them there that night, Howard and Sean, and they’re brothers, hitchhiked their way from Minnesota to Vegas just trying to make money and get by, playing music and selling drugs and
following the Grateful Dead's Bob Weir around like most other Heads, Howard being twenty-five and Sean nineteen, and they're living the dream you want so bad to live, only to realize you’re either not cut out for it or you’re just not there yet. Maybe you have more growing up to do.

A couple Saturdays later you ended up at their rent-a-shack third-floor motel a few miles east of the Flamingo, seven or eight or nine kids there drinking and laughing and being loud through all hours of the day and night, you drinking champagne and taking a line of speed and having a ball just being your obnoxious drunk loud self with a kid named Blondie, a twenty six year old painter/carpenter/rancher Tennessee James, another named Mitchell, this kid Jonah, more men than women and faces you remember but no more names, and y’all are talking Fleet Foxes and Modest Mouse and one of 'em has a tattoo: “The Good Times Are Killing Me” (from Isaac Brock, the front-man of Modest Mouse) and you’re singing along to the song 3rd Planet--

(“and the universe is shaped exactly like the earth,
if you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were”)

--But eventually you meet a hippie couple, both dreaded up pale-skinned train-hoppers, one named Adam (he's about 30), the other Lily (she's only 22 by comparison) and she has a three year old son Tracks (after the trains they hop) who's a genius and sociable and loves everyone and everything, and it's fun to play with the kid but it's becoming dawn and you have a couple more hits of acid and they have a boatload of marijuana from Northern California, so you bring up an idea that you've had since you've met this beautiful group of people, and that's to take a bunch of your acrylic paint and some of these hippies and go to the only thing in Vegas worth sticking around for, a state park by the name of Red Rock Canyon.

So at their place which was downstairs from Howard and Sean and Tennessee James', waiting for Adam and Lily to get ready at 6am you met a man Rob who's misplaced among all the kids shuffling around, a man they picked up in Hemet, California, not too far from your boarding school town, with kids and a wife who cheated on him and kicked him out of their house, did jail-time for some bureaucratic mistake (working, driving paint cans to a drop-site), so his story goes, Rob in his forties hopeless at the time, he decided to stick around with Tracks and sleep with him while you all went on your little excursion.

And then out of the blue comes a girl with eyes so powerful they'll shake you,  she's broken too but she called herself Tizita, real name Alexis, she kisses Lily full on and these girls make out for awhile, afterglow from a love affair you had just missed; but y’all end up on the road soon enough, making a quick pit stop for gas.

6am, you’re getting gas and you are approached by a kid mid to late twenties down on his luck, decide to take him with you to Red Rock on a tad bit of acid to paint. Haitian Mike. Tizita pushed to sit in the front seat, and you’re all on the freeway, tabs in your mouths, jamming to psych-pop and George Harrison’s Tomorrow Never Knows.

You get to the park, gather your supplies, and start a mild hike inward, down a trail through flat brush lands, about 70 degrees at the beginning of March and the wind howling like crazy, enough for you kids to keep your jackets on, and you find a circle of mesquite trees a mile inward, a nice little sitting circle of rocks inside made specifically for shade. You paint little rocks for awhile, designs here and there, and you jump on an idea to take a rock from the sitting circle, paint a little circle A for anarchy , and turn the rock over, as if to symbolically say, “true freedom is hidden: one has to find it,” though you don't think anyone besides yourself really appreciated it beyond simple fun, and you might totally be wrong but that moment, with people (even though you didn't know who they were/are) that you, at the time, felt like family with, that was defining.

And next thing you know you’re putting face paint on Tizita, little orange and yellow and green war dots over her forehead and eyes and cheeks and you stare at each other a long time, you trying not to fumble but you do a little bit and it's cute and you talk softly and it was all so perfect, nothing mattered but that moment then-- looking back on it now that trip to Red Rock made the rest of the journey, so full of tripping over yourself, your words, your actions, worth it all.

She knew it too at the time. And you all hiked upward a bit before the group got tired, the wind blowing like some awful big vacuum cleaner monster, you traveled up the hillside s'more before tiring yourself out, building a little rock sculpture at the end to signify where you left off, just a stack of rocks simple about four or five high, and you're in the car going home everyone ready to pass out.

So you and Tizita exchanged numbers and you dropped her home, across town from Red Rock but only a ten minute freeway ride from you.

The next day she wanted to go job-hunting, so you do, filling out all kinds of applications in dead-end parking lot strip malls, coming across an older hippie outside a Wal-Mart, she asked for a little bit of food and you both obliged, buying it on Tizita's food-stamps.

You, at one point, decided to stop by the 3rd floor with all the Heads, bringing with you a library in the trunk of your car. “Thank you’s” were being passed around like pipe-hits. Noam Chomsky’s On Anarchism, PD Ouspensky’s The Fourth Way, a book on Christ as a nonviolent populist revolutionary, some Hemingway, Chuck Palahniuk, Ginsberg, Kerouac, etc. You gave ‘em away there, and continue to wonder where they ended up—in addition to a couple paintings you freely gave.  

The first time you kissed her, it was on one of the pedestrian bridges on the Strip, if you can recall correctly it was between the brand-spanking new Aria, designed for young professionals out clubbing, and another casino called City Center, also brand-new, and this kiss was among street guitarists and you were both sober and it was beautiful.

Tizita was from Washington State and was born a military brat. She fell in with some bad people, ran away from home, got into ecstasy. Tizita kept strong and learned how to survive with a pack of juggalos--(WHAT IS A JUGGALO? FUCK IF I KNOW, BUT I’M DOWN WITH THE CLOWN AND I’M DOWN FOR LIFE, YO), one of them you would meet in Berkeley later on named Zander, and one day she decided Seattle wasn't cutting it like she thought and fled south. In Portland she got into heroin, got off heroin. Fled further south. In San Francisco got into drinking and ended up in Seattle again after some trouble with police--

(There's so much to like love idolize glorify or hate, or distrust about, or to judge, but who knows better than god and if god is us all then we're capable of seeing.)

She has slept/pissed in/ate out of/made love to girls in dumpsters, she's met Tim Armstrong of Rancid (though who hasn’t in the Berkeley world?), she's had Thanksgiving dinners at communes, she's met contacts that do things like tree-sit, she's gotten scabies then got rid of them, she's been train-hopping, she's found her way to a Rainbow Gathering (hippie festival involving a week taking drugs having orgies digging shitters gathering firewood finding family in the dark pervading shuffle of life), she's dealt weed in Berkeley, constantly uses phrases like, DOG OUT, KICK ROCKS, SHUT THAT BABY UP! and in the end like all of you, perfectly deserving of inner peace. Tizita is also one year younger than yourself. One year and two weeks. Tizita, in laymen’s terms, is batshit nuts. But then, so are you.

You’re a hippie boy with a fondness for the seagulls.

You fell in love with her for a little while. A goddamn heroine. Or maybe selfish and self-involved (but then so are you), or maybe a lost cause, or maybe a beacon of hope, or maybe you’re on different levels, or maybe you’re a coward, or maybe, just maybe, you’re both instruments in a much bigger scheme, one built by those who see what those in the present cannot, or maybe even still, and probably much more likely but a lot less fun, you’re both just young. And stupid. And kids make mistakes. People make mistakes. Still to this day you can't help but wonder-- and that's just 'cus you felt like you hardly knew her. As with anything in relationships, it all depends on how you look at it.

Tizita also was a dog-person, her own being Sammy Davis Jr , or Sammy D, a beautiful black lab big like ninety pounds and floppy-eared and a graceful flap in his step, the soul of all mankind condensed in his eyes. Sammy D got Tizita through some tough times train-hopping hitchhiking by herself, and there must be angels on this rock because she got through everything O.K. somehow.

The three weeks after that kiss involved you going to your community college classes, picking her up, hanging out, smoking weed or drinking, all of it being a total blur. In that time you gave a talk in your Speech 101 class about meditation, you found work (she didn’t) doing social media applications for a musician,  went to a Pagan ritual on the north edge of Vegas dedicated to mother goddesses, got swindled by a con-artist with a Nevada teaching license “recruiting” for teaching English  in a Chinese city called Suzhou, (twenty minutes from Shanghai by speed-train, so he said) babysat baby Tracks and had wild animal-style sex to, of all things, the movie Juno and a soundtrack of Kimya Dawson, you locked your keys in your car, painted your father's shed (it took two days, well two and a half), got an oil change, hung out with some party-practicing-Buddhist cats, wrote a closure-type letter to your ex of six months (to try and make the nightmares stop), etc etc, met up with an older gay couple you were family friends with, one of 'em who worked at an airline company and wanted to give you a job at 10/hr plus free airfare to wherever you wanted to go on weekends, flirted with a drug-addled girl named Melody while in Tizita's presence (Tizita lived free love so you thought it was OK (this'll be important later) but she straight out said to you one time-- “I'm the jealous type and you better stop doing that”) (and if you were ALPHA AS FUCK, you’d do it anyway, but you guess you’re not—cover all the bases here?), went to a free ska show featuring a band called the English Beat (who kicked ass live twenty years after their prime) and a local opener called the Remedies (who came from the same high school as some of your friends/your first girlfriend), got kicked out by a PTSD security guard, during which the diplomacy stages between you and him you ended up growling at him and blowing your cigarette smoke in his face and saying, “You were in the army, weren't you?”, smiling all the while, too angry to be diplomatic to someone who judged you so quick/judging him as a reaction, among other things.

Here’s a poem you wrote from these couple weeks:

The world opens like a flower
If you yourself become a flower,
change imminent and incan-
descent and if you refuse like
a rock in the riverbed then you
stay a rock.

Being a rock has perks but damn
it's just not for me. I'd rather
float down the cascading river
and follow it down to the sea.

After all, we're all being swept
away into the sea anyway, no
matter if we're rocks or flowers
or anything in-between.

One of those blurry nights you found yourselves outside Lily and Adam's place at about midnight or so, baby Tracks fast asleep, Adam trying to walk away but Lily dragging on to him, screaming, “You don't have to do this!” Adam adamant and he eventually left, leaving you and Tizita to console Lily on the apartment steps.

“Heroin, man! It ruins everything!” She sobbed.
You don't know what to say.
Tizita says, holding up her American Spirit, “Team Tracks.”
“Oh, I'm not too worried.” She said. “He'll come back.”
You didn't want to say it because you don't know but you have the feeling (maybe just based on stereotypes but feelings all the same), and she did too, that one of these days he wasn't going to.

You all go for a little drive in your car, listening to music and smoking a bit of pot and not talking much, and after about half an hour, you come back and Adam comes back and everything is kinda sorta normal. He acknowledges all of you before going inside to his little piece-of-shit world, can't blame the guy at least not then and not even now, they're all just byproducts of a terribly broken image, and you swear to god you wish it wasn't so broken. Lily then says while ashing her rollie, “Well, he's back. Gotta go make some love, man. Bring us together again. We're so cool when we're together.”

And you and Tizita wished her good night before going to bed yourselves.

Tizita's living situation involved a close family friend and her daughter, but while the mother-type was quite understanding of Tizita's lifestyle and ethics, her daughter wasn't-- this caused a bit of melodrama which, after some passive aggressive fighting, left Tizita homeless. She decided then that instead of getting her life together in Vegas she wanted to go back to Berkeley and try to clear brush trails for a pseudo-military organization made by California governor Jerry Brown back in the 70s called the California Conservation Corps. And she wanted you to come with her.

(“Be free with your tempo,
be free, be free,
surrender your ego,
be free, be free,
with yourself.”)

You were sold by her act. But that’s because she could cater to you. You’ve talked about William S Burroughs, the Tao te Ching, SLC Punk, Riot Grrls, how the Dead wasn’t that great and how you both weren’t exactly on board with Dead shows and shit (also her father a Phish fan), the road itself, her past, your past, blah fucking blah.  You knew it could be bullshit but she talked Berkeley, tree-sitting, trimming weed, all kinds of hippie activities so awesome your eyes were bulging. You knew from the start things could end up being shit, or end up being incredible, probably both, and that was enough.

Long story short you spent the next week planning it all, your path through California, making sure your 2003 Chevy Cavalier (“the SS Blueberry”) could make it there, 90,000 miles on it when you got the car second-hand from your father, 100k by the time everything settled. You packed and had one last weekend, involving hanging out with a man Patches who had a kid in Santa Barbara but Patches was aiming for Denver, you gave him a pair of jeans and dropped him off at a truck-stop at the north end of town; that weekend was also when Lily was arrested for selling weed on the Strip. Child Protective Services decided to stop by, with lots of warning, making Adam and Tizita and some other cats to be all protective and not answer the door when they did come, one of 'em asking you (who was smoking outside) who was who and you lying through your goddamn teeth.

“I spot a little bullshit on your chin,” the CPS Agent countered, to which you wiped. He was on his shit, and you weren’t. Lost, lost, you decided to pick up and go.

And a couple days later, after making sure Lily got out of jail O.K. and baby Tracks was O.K. and after an interview for a job you knew you wouldn't start, you both left town.

TWO (Highway)

By chance, thirty miles into it all, Bob Dylan's “LIKE A ROLLING STONE” came on the radio and you just had to sing along, so certainly knowing or coming to know what Bobby really meant by “no direction home” and boy, was Tizita groovy then.

The first stop in your journey was at her family's place, a small little three-bedroom house outside of Riverside. Two moms, three kids, a dog, a kitchen with smells like your own family back in Texas, the older mom Denise who's about thirty, her kid Kirsten the other mom in the household, with two kids herself and Denise with a child about ten years younger than Kirsten. Denise had a drug habit (that she gave up, hard life) which made her second child slow, not meaning to be rude because God bless 'em all, but there was a certain darkness shown by their constant impatience with life.

You got there around 8-9 at night, after leaving Vegas around 3-4 in the afternoon. You crashed early that evening, tired from all the ganje (a pattern here), leaving Tizita and Kirsten (who's your age) to have girl-talk (which never ended in that household) and these trapped angry people felt like home, a home you'd never want to be apart of, but a home still the same.

You, Tizita, and Denise, as well as Kirsten's little four year old, you made your way to the lake the next day, its blue waters lapping up little waves, the walk there full of wildflowers and dreams, you and the cute little hyped up four year old playing in the sprinklers on the mowed grass up from the shoreline, for a moment or two, you all drawing things in the sand with sticks, so simple—

Anyway, you said your goodbyes to her family, meanwhile Tizita's brother in trouble with his girlfriend for domestic violence, weird long phone calls trying to figure out where he went, him on the run for a few days from the cops as well as some people out to get him, packing heat 'cus he wanted so wanted to be hard (Tizita said) (and he is already, this hard world full of hard people makes you soft sometimes but you believe in the power of the word so fuck it all ), it made you paranoid to hear the play-by-play, many motherfuckers in Bremerton lookin' to kick his ass, swear to god, paranoia feeling up and down this whole cumdumpster life.

And his girlfriend took pictures and put them on her Facebook profile, bruises up and down her pregnant body, from her back to her legs and arms, but his story is something along the lines of her latching on to him as he was trying to remove himself and leave after him pushing her into a coffee table; and everything's fishy because Tizita was telling you how her brother's girlfriend was all kinds of freakin' out over Facebook to her, not only from her profile but a profile she made for their kid, who wasn't even born yet. Kirsten was also spewing some drama over her cell phone, calling her family all kinds of bad names. The whole thing was mad ridiculous.

You drove from Riverside to the beautiful secluded Idyllwild, but decided to pack up and leave after fucking that morning (your favorite time to get down) in front of Sammy Dog in the tent, with a choir of coyotes in the distance, in the midst of a rumble or some weird crazy free-for-all, you and her terrified for Sammy so packing up camp mighty quick, the coyotes calling some weird omen. Dogs know things you could only fathom.

You stayed that night around UCSB at your friend’s co-op.  He opened the garage for you and you stayed there, an event space by day, underground railroad by night. Crimethinc lined the walls with books and zines; there were a incredible number of other DIY'ed printer runoffs, straight outta the 90s, female health liberation to queer struggle to stop smoking pamphlets to How to Develop Consensus brochures; a library of liberal arts textbooks; various Zinn and Chomsky; How To’s about gardening, carpentry. The space you stayed in was in the garage, and he let you alone and you fucked before a dreamless sleep on a mattress in the corner.

The morning was misty and you and Tizita walked around, getting dark roast caphee from a crazy yellow-green splattered coffee-stop, making jokes like cough-ee or caphee while walking to the shoreline and seeing the Pacific Ocean cold and deep horizon blue, coming back to a note and some breakfast. Some bananas, some oatmeal, trail-mix. You caught up with him, had a conversation about ayahuasca, how he has some and was going to Columbia to visit a girlfriend and do some community service/activism as he put it; in the end, though, you 'n Tizita decided to head north, the destination being a state park called Montana de Oro, above San Luis Obispo.

The Highway goes on forever. Life may go round and round but the highway is straight and sometimes curvy and there are exit ramps and Carpool Lanes but you eventually wind up back on the road anyway, and up through Buellton and Pismo and toward Big Sur it felt like a novel or a movie or a fantasy-- guess that's why you take conscious effort to remember it all, this Folk Life some kind of dream made for giants or moonchildren named Christine or Camille or Flower, or sungods named Howard or Martin, sunshine leaking from the holes in their skulls, ready for the next party-adventure always smelling like they climbed out of a pig sty but shit son, it's all in the eyes anyway.

Tizita's eyes were out of this world, it's what ya first notice when you meet her, and for chrissakes have you spent so much time staring at them, how yellow they are around the pupils, but fading to green toward the edges of her irises.

You stopped in San Luis Obispo and found some street-kids to smoke a bowl, but they were overrun with loud tweaker-types so after awhile she hooked one of 'em into buying you both a three-dollar six-pack of a brand Simpler Times IPA from Trader Joes, left SLO, and headed to your state park campsite.

Along the way you gas-chugged, collecting six or so gallons from various passers-by at a Chevron, the whole process taking a couple hours holding a sign OUT OF GAS and looking disheveled. You found some groceries before the little thirty minute drive through the state park, and stopped at a hike-into camp-site to be yourselves, then you made fire, ate some grilled steak and vegetables, smoked and drank your Simpler Times beer before sleeping.

In some circles, eating meat is as bad as murder, and there all kinds of rationalizations on both sides of the fight—you believing bacon tastes amazing and can do amazing things for morale. Whatever makes you sleep well at night. You haven't found the courage to eat all vegan, all the time, though you might be, in a mild way, vegetarian. But you’re noncommittal. Labels are for squares. You’ll give up meat someday. Tizita had a similar rationalization. Diet is something that's versatile to you. Food is food. Hunger is hunger. You've been realizing that the hungrier you got the less you cared what you put in your body.

The conversations you had at this point were small plans kind of conversations, miniscule. No more back-story or philosophy or interests. You’re not one for paranoia but fuck the girl made it easy so easy to think bad thoughts.

Under the guise of, “Hey, let it go--”

Fuck that. Sore, you fucked in the tent again and slept. Your back felt worse in the morning, stiff as shit and you made some cowboy coffee over the fire, fried some bacon, and listened to the birds through the ocean fog that swept through the trees.

(“Silence, like a cancer, grows.”)

Meanwhile Tizita took some time and wrote a letter to a dear friend of hers, nicknamed Pip, an American Indian that liked to pick wildflowers but he fell in with some bad people, and on an amphetamine trip while camping one of his friends attempted to rape him. Next thing you know, that friend was dead. Supposedly it was someone else’s crime, how some little kid 5’4” named Pip could kill someone Tizita didn’t believe, darkness pervades everything, and she showed you a picture of the storm drain on the reservation they found the body in, and the haunting dream of living on the edge showed itself finally. How good things could ultimately end up terrible. Poor Pip.

You left the Morro Bay area and took the 101 up toward Monterey, past Atascadero and spanged  off the interstate in Paso Robles, taking claim to a sandwich, some Cliff bars, a cigarette, seven bucks, all in about half an hour. Tizita also showed you a train-hopping spot underneath the onramp where scrawled on the walls were hundreds of messages from traveling kids, speaking hate, love, and memory to one another. Tizita picked out a few and showed them to you, a little story attached to every scrawl—

‘Yo itz Casper Howz Tracks? 1/13’

Amazing how such a living breathing artifact exists! How many stories are written on the walls, how the memories of individuals are left to be decoded, but mostly ignored, much like all of us to each other anyway. Funny, huh? You got back to the car and drove through King City, passing Big Sur but promising to go back to it. Eventually, the car made it all the way to Monterey. You were impressed that your baby would get that far.

THREE (Monterey)

The breeze was airy like a psych-pop record, seagulls making passes at hermit crabs, the temperature mild and it smelled like rain. You got there at about five or six in the afternoon, and parked the car before finding some more street-kids to jam with. You found a couple dudes that weren’t exactly distinguishable except for the dogs—so many street-kids have dogs, it’s definitely the most obvious part of the culture, and most of these dogs are pit bulls mistreated like redheaded step-children (though, to be fair, pit bulls need a bit of aggression to keep them in line, or so the excuse rings out.) KRS One was actually playing a show a block away, and the time was perfect for you to belt out WHOOP WHOOP THAT’S THE SOUND OF DA POLICE before checking out for the evening.

As the rain came pouring down, the trunk to your car wouldn’t close. You spent the next forty-five minutes unpacking the car and tying bungee cords to keep it shut and from then on only access your things by putting down the seats, something that Tizita took great pains to do herself ‘cus you were so rough with everything--

And then you drove up Seventeen Mile Drive through all the cypress trees and prime golf territory Monterey had to offer, you pulled off into a lot overlooking a small valley, everything shadowed by dark. You were expecting security to show up at some point ‘cus you drove through a gate complete with guard but the lady on duty just smiled and waved you through. THANKS LADY Tizita laughed. You had sex, getting to be routine by now, her always on bottom, well not always always but you were getting sick of it all then. You instead were looking forward to that cigarette afterward more than the sex itself, which was funny ‘cus she quite enjoyed herself that night.

The next morning you flew a sign in downtown Monterey—HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF—but didn’t catch much. Too early and ended up meeting a bunch of funny street kiddos, a hippie or two, a tweaker, an oogle. There was streetkid Hero (shady Mexican on a bicycle), a kid named Fartface (with sunglasses, a crooked smile, a baseball cap), a hippie girl Ali who made ‘Karma bracelets’ to sell to tourists, an angry Malcolm X type with hair straight outta that movie Do the Right Thing , and a white fifteen year old oogle named Ben, not really an oogle just socially awkward like your fine self, you oogles gotta stick together in a way, SOLIDARITY MUTHAFUCKAS! wish you woulda said that to him but pride kept you from saying a word. You sat around most of the morning near the boardwalk, getting stoned and staying silent.

You busied yourself while Tizita made Karma bracelets with Ali, you building a rock sculpture scavenger hunt from one end of the Monterey Boardwalk to the other, only to find that the goddamn tourists paid no attention and ruined practically every little step you made until the prize at the end (a bag of Gobstoppers hidden behind a telephone pole).

Then there’s the Monterey Drop-In Center. A two story house across the street from the high school lived in by a father with a heroin habit he got rid of years before, his mother, his family, and a large amount of kids in and out of the facility. It’s open in the daytime to a stocked kitchen, a computer with a DSL hookup, though there’s not enough room for the twenty-thirty-odd streetkids that make appearances at the weekly breakfast.

You first appeared at that weekly breakfast the day after Easter. Speaking of which, your Easter was spent sitting on the sand writing poems, stacking rocks, drinking a little and sparking a lot of hash-dipped joints, bringing silence to the world of noise. Salty waves crashed around you, speaking hymnals, the cold almost bearable.

The weekly breakfast was warm and inviting and streetkids watched each others’ dogs outside while smoking cigarettes, some lost and befuddled, some short and ill-tempered, some cool and contained, some with girls, some without, some girls by themselves, most of ‘em with packs and mats and sleeping bags and respect was given to the family who lived in the home they were in. Eggs were fried, toast was made, pancakes flipped, sausage grilled, dishes done, under delegation by the family. There were so many people doing things you were able to stand and watch.

(Pigeons coo in attic,
mice chew wires
in wallboard

--the heart
in chest beats
so you keep,

bare feet
pounding in

Tizita’s spent some time at this drop-in center, on good terms with the man in charge, Bill, and she knows the ins and outs of the place. You gathered food bank locations, condoms, an extra pan to cook stuff in, some clothes. Then she gave Bill a hug and you left.

Outside of the Drop in Center was a streetkid without his old lady, weeping and bleeding with a swollen ankle. You didn’t ask any questions, just loaded a pipe and handed it to him. He looked up, whispered, “Thanks,” and smoked it. You stood there for a few minutes passing the pipe back and forth. The quiet air brought a stench of empathy.

Somewhere along the way you found a man named Beau, a man Tizita’s had a mysterious history with, he looks about thirty but you never asked, and there were some trimming kids he was with, dark and all that, and he’s a bonafide hitchhiker himself, you feeling like he’s competition so you never said nothing to him personally, and you found him inland and drank some beer on the street and got high off hash oil before you drove all of ‘em back to the coast, his first words to you being, “So you finally freed yourself, is that what I hear?” And you didn’t answer, too faded to say shit, just feeling like shit yourself, and you’re driving bad on the freeway (no condition to drive, but you did it anyway), you lighting bowls along the way, them screaming “SIX-UP” when cops passed by, you not getting what SIX-UP  meant until it was too late, but the cop didn’t care. You got to the beach around dark and they were gonna have a bonfire, but you ditched them to pass the fuck out in the car.

(“It’s gonna rock you like a hurricane,
It’s gonna rock you ‘til you lose sleep,
It’s gonna rock you ‘til you’re out of a job,
It’s gonna rock you ‘til you’re out on the street,
It’s gonna have you down on your knees,
It’s gonna have you beggin’ pretty please.”)

Life goes on and you spent the next day or so sleeping in your car around Monterey. You also met a gingered street couple who wanted to go to Big Sur with you, per the plan, and this was around the third of the month, when food stamps came in, but at six in the morning you woke to Tizita screaming about them not arriving. You left straight away, making it to Berkeley in a few hours when it was all said and done, squeezing past Santa Cruz and up.

It was a real disappointment you didn’t get to Big Sur. But that wasn’t the worst of your problems by far, or so you’d soon find out.

FOUR (Bezerkeley)

Berkeley when you first arrived was full of green, bright, the sun shining and you felt wonderful for the whole trip, getting someone like Tizita all the way here, believing for once in the power of glassy-eyed love affairs, and within minutes someone was offering you some more LSD.

You bought four hits for twenty bucks but for the rest of the day, a feeling you could never ever shake off in your time at Peoples’ Park, you felt like you were back in high-school, out of place, not in the know, disposable.

Berkeley, as you knew it, had one road. Telegraph. There were a host of businesses aimed at the fashionable 20something market lining either side of the street, from the UC Berkeley Campus down, and a few of these businesses you came to know—there were two smoke shops between a salon, and these guys were always competing. One tries to sell you papers at a price you don’t want to commit to? Complain to the other and get ‘em half off. There was also the Med, a bakery/bistro that sold cheap coffee. Oh and Peat’s, a Bay area coffee shop, sold cheap drip too. There was Amoeba Records, there was a sandwich place with their selections named after famous writers (The Jack London, the Hemingway, etc), a cupcake place, a yogurt shop, but you knew that it was all so trendy and fraudulent.

People’s park though.  People’s Park has a history. A really damn good history at that. A plot of land originally intended for student housing for UC Berkeley, the lot ended up decrepit through the winter of 1967. Then some local residents decided to build a park. The University retaliated with a fence. On the 15th of May, 1969, 6,000 people descended upon Peoples’ Park to maintain its special privilege as a public space. A real one. Not a park controlled by the local government or a private contractor (as we see so often), but a space built and maintained by the public and for the public, municipalities be damned. Ronald Reagan, governor of California at the time, he had a grudge against it, claiming the protestors to be ‘communist sympathizers’, and so the University of California Police Department suited up in riot gear and ran through the crowd, nightsticks swinging. The Alameda County Sheriff’s Department used shotguns from the buildings above the park, and a few government salaried men fired upon the governed, killing nine and injuring many more.

After that day in 1969, 30,000 Berkeley citizens barricaded the park to protest Reagan’s occupation of their city, and in an iconic moment, girls put flowers in the muzzles of bayoneted National Guard rifles.

Eventually, over years of court proceedings, the park shifted into a vacant lot again, then basketball courts were developed, then the people attempted to start building a community garden, and there Peoples’ Park stayed. Food Not Bombs serves everyday, and so the park became a refuge for the homeless and protestors alike. Along came the Catholic Worker Movement  who also served meals, and over time Peoples’ Park became a spot for frequent drug use, freedom, ‘anarchy.’

But community space has its problems, as ideal as everything sounds, sometimes you’re overrun with the body politic or some kind of Watering Hole Mentality. Lots of things were discussed here, lots of schemes, lots of confusion, anxiety, betrayal, untrustworthiness, lots of petty crime. Drugs. Tizita always joked about that—“No one in Peoples’ Park is sober.”

You had your run of the mill users, your tweakers, your hippies and maybe your HIPPIES, your artists and maybe your ARTISTS, your average social outcasts, the basic stoner, dealers who moved product, animalistic predators, some homosexuals, pansexuals, transsexuals, asexuals, heterosexuals, grunge-caked souls running, running, streetkids, anarchists and maybe ANARCHISTS, folk singers, dropouts, bohemian lethargists, vampires, juggalos, a writer or two, oh and drunks; also there were undercover agents, the FBI, cops on bicycles, a cop on a horse every once in awhile, the Illuminati for chrissakes, volunteers, Catholics, Hindus, Buddhists, Hedonists, black, white, Chicano, Aztec, mixed, Puerto Rican, Filipino, Chinese, Persian, skateboarders, punx, meth-mouthed unionizers, a whole lot of Wingnuts. You know, the kind that ramble incoherently, some reading passages from the Bible in foreign (or made up) languages, some speaking to “The Dark Lord” on a regular basis, others screaming “FUCK YOU YOU ASS-MUNCHER YOU’RE WORTHLESS COME SUCK MY COCK” (coming from an old woman), others always, always, always laughing, as if their lives themselves were intricate jokes.
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­    
Berkeley was a joke. There were some famous Wingnuts, one named Fred who wore a purple kimono and carried a large bamboo stick that was almost always tucked through his cloth belt. He frequently spoke to some other being that was next to him, a god-type figure imaginary best-friend who gave him missions to carry out upon the innocent store-owners in the city of Berkeley. He would go on missions sometimes, or he’d stick around for marijuana, bum a cigarette, leave. Or sometimes not. He would have entire existential discussions with the Creator, or attempt to shoot energy balls from his hands. Fred had to have been in his forties. Another Wingnut looked remarkably like Anton Le Vey and spoke in tongues, but you stayed away from him. Another slept in bushes and didn’t say anything. You could tell from his eyes he was crazy or tweaked out or what-have-you.

It was enough to want to make playing cards.  Another poem--

Dogs, vying
for power
and love

bow to their
masters; and we, in
turn, bow to ours.

Their masters and
Our masters are
one in the same--

Your first day or two in Berkeley was overwhelming, much like being in any urban center for the first time. (That feeling needs to go fuck itself.) You sat in a circle and you were introduced to a number of denizens, some with homes and some without, some with names, others without. Tizita was good friends with a girl named KitKat and her old man, Boxcar. Then came Zander and his old lady, a ginger named Pebbles. Tizita knew Zander from her Seattle days. He used to be a juggalo, and they had a bit of romance at the time, even though he was nineteen and she was fifteen. They didn’t fuck because of that. Or at least, that’s the story she told you.

You had too much pride for all of this. You didn’t want to meet the people she formerly slept with. It meant you would be one of those people. Does anybody want that? Heaven fucking forbid. It would be the death of you.

A friend of yours from back in your boarding school days, he happened to be around, with an apartment and lots of spare time. So you ended up hanging out with him, his hair long, a beard too, currently engaged in a homosexual romance with a kid from his school but he listened to 50s pop records on his hipster record player, and you cooked food and slept at his place a number of times. Name was Michael. Michael was cool, and even though you didn’t really connect with him, there was respect.

Meanwhile, Tizita set up a business plan with a local kid Lost who sold in ounces (for eighty bucks!), and you/she sat in the park all day selling sacks and making enough money for gas in the car, cigarettes, food.

You were made for awhile. There was also a girl that she wanted you to meet, named Nadine, who grew up in Montreal and spoke French but came out West travelling. She had settled for the moment, with an artist studio and a boyfriend Francis who worked in an autoshop, and both of them were real accommodating and you stayed with them for a few nights in their apartment in Alameda.

Anyway, Alameda was a good time, if a bit forced, you drank beer on the beach and took over a campfire, and the house Nadine and Francis lived in was an older, more aristocratic home, separated into three different apartments. On their living room wall was a poster from Occupy Oakland, and you know that there’s something working here, something bigger than all of us, something just waiting to explode.

In his spare time, between the autoshop and Nadine, Francis played bass in a punk band. Never got a chance to hear them, though, and instead you and Tizita took over the attic for a few nights, a skylight there to smoke weed and stogies. You had some amazing sex in that house, lasting well into the night sky.

Despite this physical intimacy, your romance was slowing down and codependency was beginning to rear its head, but you ignored the signs, kept on and waited in Bezerkeley a couple more days before heading a few hours north to the city of Ukiah, in Mendocino County.

You jammed up there to Macklemore (a sign of the times): I’m gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket, but also music more representative of your time together—

(“Bless my heart, and bless yours too,
Don’t know where I’m goin’,
Don’t know what I’m gonna do,
There must be somebody, up above,
sayin’ come on with me, you got to come on up,
you got to hold on)

--stopping along the way to take advantage of a free gasoline fill up courtesy of small town USA’s Sherriff’s office, filling out a form and gaining a forty dollar credit to hand to the dude at the 76.

FIVE (Ukiah)

Your first time around in Ukiah was spent wasting time playing a card game known by a bunch of different names but known by you as Egyptian Ratscrew. It consists of evenly splitting the deck and taking turns throwing the first card down without looking. The object is to get all the cards, I mean ALL THE CARDS! and you did that by A) slapping on Doubles (X-X), Sandwiches (X-Y-X), or Sixty-Nines (6-9); or B) playing a face card and watching your opponent throw down a specific number of cards, depending on the face. Aces were four cards, but that also means four chances for your opponent to play a face card on you and turn the tables. (Then you get to turn the tables back hopefully, and done enough times, the stack piles up and everything gets intense.) Kings were three chances, Queens two, and Jacks, the unanimously agreed champion of the whole game, with one chance to fight back.

If you get two people with similar skill-levels to play, you’ll be at it for hours. You had figured out by now that Tizita was most definitely cooler than you, so when she won over and over, you had that nagging feeling of Goddammit I need to be good at something by Jesus! and you lost your cool not for the first time, and certainly not the last. This trip, this relationship, was Tizita-invoked, Tizita-made, Tizita-owned. There was no place for the likes of a cat like you. Not yet.

Ukiah, a small blip of a town in Mendocino County. It’s where she wanted to go. But you couldn’t see it. This small town had her Conservation Corps. It had a Buddhist Center with lots of Peacocks. It had its own radio station. A brewing company. A thrift store. A city hall. A Wal-Mart. A couple parks. But it’s one of those places where you’re local all your life, you grow weed for a living, and you drive a 4x4.

Consequently, where there are secret weed farms there are also street-kid trimmers, kids that pack up and go like the nomads of pre-White-Imperialism, gypsies maybe in another country. At any one time this place was full of ‘em, you just had to know where to look.

As you stood there and narrowed your gaze at the people of Ukiah in their one and only Wal-Mart, you just as easily could have never left the side of Vegas you lived in. Of course, it was Wal-Mart, but there was a level of disappointment that you couldn’t get over.

You didn’t want it. Disappointment. Either side really. You’re sure Tizita felt her own version of disappointment in you. You’re not a fully developed human yet. You suck! But then neither is she, and at least you know you suck. But you got to keep marching. In the words of the Beatles, Ob-la-di Ob-la-da man.

On the way out of Wal-Mart and municipal Ukiah you picked up a half-breed Hopi hitchhiking to nowhere. East, maybe, he laughed. So you brought Hawaiian Russ with you to a campsite Tizita knew about twenty miles or so eastward, and while he didn’t help gather firewood or make food, he didn’t eat food either, and instead drank wine, excitedly went on about being a born-again Pentecostal, and jammed nonstop to Rush in all its epic 80s glory. Later on in the evening, y’all traded bad jokes.
    Tizita. “What’s a hippie’s favorite kind of cigarette?”
    Hawaiian Russ. “Let me think about this one…hmm. I dunno, what?”
    Tizita. “Yours!” HA HA.
    Hawaiian Russ laughed that high-pitched Hawaiian surfer laugh. Then he said, “OK, OK, I got one. What’s worse than Indians on TV?”
    You. “What?”
    “Indians watching Indians on TV…HEE HEE HEE HEE!”
    Then, after staring into the fire, Hawaiian Russ said, “Hey, dad, I had this dream the other night. You might like it too, sis…awh, actually, nevermind, a dream’s a dream.”
    “No, go on.” Tizita’s nudging voice. Or maybe yours.
    “Well, usually,” Hawaiian Russ began, “When someone says I had this dream it means the partiers you’re with kinda, suck at partying HEE HEE HEE HEE!” Hawaiian Russ was right, what can you say? Different Strokes for Different Folks. On the flip side, though, he never held down a job for longer than two weeks, only kept his mom in his contact list on a small cell phone, had a failed marriage, lived in Arizona, New Mexico, California, Hawaii, drank a lot of wine, listened to Rush (CATCH THE MIST, CATCH THE MYTH, CATCH THE MYSTERY, CATCH THE DRIFT?). In the end, he slept in a sleeping bag you gave him, outside in the cold as you slept in tent.


You were playing phone tag with the CCC recruiter Chris for quite some time, Tizita doing due diligence to ensure she’s not just remembered, but to persevere,   to make a point, her strategically introducing a crack in your relationship with the sentence: “They shouldn’t know we’re together.” It made sense, really, practically speaking, in the context of the CCC, but on another level you could tell she was embarrassed to have you hangin’ around while she was making her big life decisions (which are so big when you’re eighteen any place in life, eighteen is that age, you know?) You had to figure that out when you went to college, and again when you dropped out, and again BIG LIFE DECISION when you went away to New York and again BIG LIFE DECISION when you made the choice to hit the road, jack, but now after all of those decisions, with regrets, sure, you’re starting to realize that possibilities are what you make them to be, that chains aren’t really chains but yarn sometimes, and all it takes is a pair of scissors and a reason.

But fuck her embarrassment. Fuck that. She might be cooler than you in some regards, but fuck that. It showed that you weren’t in it together, something you didn’t get you wanted until this whole mess. A long-haul kinda girl. That’s what you were interested in. Tizita was a use-em-and-dispose-them kinda girl. At least with you.
(Karma’s a funny thing to us all.)

Your man at the CCC could care less whether you were together or not. He just needed bodies to work, and with fire season coming up, you’d have plenty of it.

In any case, you set up a meeting with Chris while sitting at the Ukiah Public Library the next morning, and you explored for awhile before becoming bored and wandering the woods around town. You found a few fishermen and an older tramp on a trail to a river, the whole place stinking of trash and algae and flies.

You failed a test when she tried to jump on your back near the river, screaming PIGGIE BACK RIDE! and you almost fell over. An old man stuck in a weak kid’s body, that’s what you are. Another embarrassing moment, one you can now laugh at, coulda laughed at then, too high to do so. You were just too damn high. You never reconciled over these moments, which built like a blood-clot, and it was a damn shame and further split you apart, even though you spent so much time together, day in and day out--

At any rate you resorted to coloring books and word searches bought at the dollar store and decided to spark an initiation, something she’s done but you haven’t-- sleeping under the freeway overpass. (It’s like Christmas morning your parents without enough money for presents say to your sad sorry Charlie Brown soul: Who needs toys when you have us? or worse yet: I gave you the greatest gift of all, child, I gave you LIFE!) That being said, if you’re looking for adventure, or to be humbled, or a safe place to sleep, the freeway overpass is a good freaking spot, if you find the right kind of overpass and you make sure the fucker’s clean and you’re safe from bogeymen, and you have a buddy, and a dog, and a knife six inches long. And you sleep with one eye open.

(They call you crazy. Maybe.)

So she laid down her tarp and you took a sleeping bag and Sammy D (who’s a quiet beast. He won’t get in the way and he’s there when you need him. In other words, the perfect D-O-G) and you did a quick sweep of a flat spot at the top of a steep incline. The spot shelters you not only from view, but from wind. And with the three of you all huddled, you on the outside against the world in protective warrior fashion (though we all know who the warrior was here), you slept.

But those dreams when you’re not at peace at any point, the whole thing imprinted with a sound of chaos in your ears--

“The problem with most people is that they have a fixed perspective on the world; and that anything that doesn’t fit in with their world is denied. So I ask the question—why can’t we accept? What if we accepted? Accept what?

To say I ACCEPT THIS LIFE is to accept the basics: the roads, the sidewalks, the DMV. But it’s also more. To say I ACCEPT THIS LIFE is to accept that everyone has a story. To say I ACCEPT THIS LIFE is to accept the good, the bad, the evil, the love, the treachery and betrayal imminent in any relationship; and take them equally as useful. To say I ACCEPT THIS is to give consent to war, famine, disease, malnourishment, mental health problems, incarceration, poverty, the forty hour workweek, everything that you love disappearing overnight. To say I ACCEPT THIS LIFE is to accept poison, guns, road rage, hemorrhoids, hospitals, each other.

To scream I ACCEPT THIS LIFE is to submit your Will to what-some-may-call god, those funny words, you screaming I ACCEPT THIS LIFE means the Greyhound ticket; the gasoline; the paper airplane; the sage smudge stick; the water bottle full of urine; the truck-stop; the loneliness; the Hotwheels car; the fire; the diapers; the abortion clinic; the wonder; the cannabis; the lipstick; the baby spinach; the embarrassment; the dirty dishes in the sink; the air conditioning; the black pitch tar underneath our heels as we walk down the street; the history underneath each and every goddamn city; the left over motor oil on top of our rivers; the pit bull who licks its own pussy; the smile of a three year old boy; the rig sticking out of a fourteen year old's arm; another rig sticking out of her twenty-one year old boyfriend; your father at his funeral; to scream I ACCEPT THIS means The coldness; the history in your internet browser; the history of a friendship; the lady who won’t stop shrieking, disturbing and terrifying, in front of everyone on the Friday commuter hour bus; to scream I ACCEPT THIS means to accept these chains to reality, the faces and masks we put on every morning as the pigeons fly overhead; the dog who won’t stop barking at two AM; sociological bullying; group-think; the kid with one too many piercings; those kids that smoke too much pot and don’t do shit, sitting on a park-bench with their mouths open like carp; the drone strikes in Yemen, in Syria, in Libya, on the Gaza Strip; to scream I ACCEPT THIS LIFE means to go to AA, to NA, to GA; the PIN pad at the grocer; your cruxes; the miscommunication between sexes, between races, between classes, between nations, between generations, between cultures, between subcultures, between the lines, man; to scream I ACCEPT THIS LIFE means to accept yourself and the paper you’re holding, the shoes you’re wearing, the soda you’re drinking, the lines you’re crossing, the ground you’re staring at, the bus stop you’re sitting at, the train you’re throwing stones at, the aquarium walls of the little fish-tank you’re trapped in, the waking up at four in the morning crying fetal position pathetic and hopeless, sweat dripping off your eyebrows as you run that extra mile,  make that extra point, go that extra distance, make that pass, initiate with that extra stranger, go to that extra meeting, smoke that last damn cigarette, live that extra life, do those extra things to prove to yourself that you’re worth a goddamn more than the piece of shit you woke up as this morning; whoo!

“TO SCREAM I ACCEPT THIS LIFE! means to accept your friends, your enemies, the people you don’t ‘get’. Because underneath it all, accepting this life is to Understand the human race as wretched tortured scared of themselves, and you, you FREAK, you sad FUCK, terrified of yourself, for yourself, doubting every step blind deaf dumb feeling around for what-some-may-call-FREEDOM. No, escapism is not freedom. Running away from your problems, ignoring them away, burning bridges chasing windmills
    ACCEPTING WHAT WAS TO BE WHAT IS, AND WHAT IS TO BE WHAT WILL BE--    none of it is freedom.            
                        Freedom is more.
Freedom doesn’t submit to anyone. It doesn’t enslave anyone either. Freedom is an agent provocateur. Freedom doesn’t sleep. Freedom doesn’t gangbang, but Freedom is a gangster. Freedom is comfortable. Freedom is uncomfortable. Freedom is saying to itself when it gets up in the morning YOU’RE A GODDAMN FREAK BABY, SO DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND LIVE IT!, oh, and it feels so damn good.


“Of course, freedom and acceptance are different, and accepting this life also means to accept the orgasm, the closeness, the warmth, the luck, the quasi-happy-ever-after, the fresh mountain stream, hot groins, the early morning fog, Taco Bell, your three year old cousin, but accepting those things is not so difficult, no. And where’s the fun in easy?”

Blue jay screeches from a pine.”

You and Tizita woke up under the overpass to the sound of her phone alarm, and you had a good two hours to make-shift shave/brush teeth/change clothes/look like not-hobos. It took about an hour and a half, between rinsing with water bottles and taking turns shoving legs into pants. But you’re on time for your interview. Wasn’t even an interview. You made the cut, but Chris was just waiting for some more bodies.

After your small victory at the CCC, Tizita and you went for the beach, forty minutes away, in Mendocino Village.

SEVEN (Mendocino)

You arrived a little past town, in a park called the Headlands, to hear the ocean speak in faint seagull lullabies, the afternoon quaint and mysterious. Fearful, you tried your best to maintain peace in yourself. On the ledge between you and the ocean you stopped and got out of the car to see four pigs, one with their knees on a man cuffing him about two hundred yards away on a cliff which jutted out into the Pacific. You wondered about his story but Tizita coaxed you back to the town itself, anxiety brewing all the while.

Mendocino belonged in a coffee table book, its Cape Cod façade ghostlike, its past shrouded in strange Illuminati shadows. On top of the court-house style bank was a statue of what could be Death (?) or Father Time holding onto a woman’s hair, his other hand holding a scythe, but no one you talked to could give me any reason why it towers above the main streets of such a perfect little beach town. You’re not the first to think it but damn, it gave you the creeps.

Soon after ogling this crazy fuckin’ thing, you found a potential ally sitting absentminded on the sidewalk. She’s got the Kimya Dawson look, thunder thighs, hair poofed out, her personality a bit on the tired side, but that’s alright, she was just the person to meet (you wish you could have gotten to actually know her), and she showed you just the beach you were looking for. Behind a church, she showed you a trail.
    “Yeah, climbing up and down these steps all the time really does a number…”
    “My friend Blackbird can do these steps up and down three times in ten minutes. He never gets tired.”
    “Three times?”
    “In ten minutes, swear. But whoo—I’m so worn out after doing ‘em once. I’ll get down there with you, maybe light a joint.”
    “Oh, we got you.”

And that was how friends were made on this beautiful beach. Your Kimya Dawson look-a-like faded way, even after the promise of weed, and the California greenery gave way to a rickety staircase, and beyond that, a half-mile of sand before the ocean. This was one of the only spots in Cali-for-ny where fires were legal, so naturally, it was the only place to be. Among the meandering clans were a group of people you came to know—Jonathan, a white man who wore a beret and played guitar, that masculine five o’clock shadow reachin’; the Dreadneck snaggletooth gossiping crustie old fart Jackie; a young Hispanic oogle from Palo Alto named Willem; Berkeley cohort Blackbird; a couple Brock and Bebe, abalone shell collectors and young; then there were some biker Hulk Hogan look-a-likes, scraggly Shark and his compatriots Jawbone and Pigeon.

There were others, you were too stoned to know, you asshole always too high, but that’s okay you again built little things out of the driftwood around, dug into the sand to make shade and built shelter to make shade, etc while Tizita smoked resin and joked with Jonathan for awhile. Jonathan was quiet, and he lived by a strict code of conduct he judged everyone by. Jackie, meanwhile, had a mouth the size of the fucking Colorado River and talked all kinds of shit. Group dynamics allowed big talking to replace responsible action. Jackie’s ridiculous Dreadnecked opinions circulated around the dozen-or-so partiers and groupthink made them fact. He already ostracized Shark before you arrived, and was working on Willem, who was sixteen and lost as fuck, who slept where others pissed, who was exceptionally unaware. You were empathetic toward Willem but said nothing, only offered the tobacco in your pockets. You knew to beware of Jackie, but like the prey you know deep down you are, you were to fall in and eat shit.

You went to the Headlands at one point with Bebe and Brock, smoked their weed but didn’t offer yours (you let Tizita control the product—to be honest, you never really respected the material world, most see it as a fault or blunder but fuck dude, your reality wasn’t even on this plane), and collected rocks, Brock showing you what was what in the subculture of rock-collecting.

You also built a sculpture out of kelp using a pocketknife and stones, building a shrine of sorts, to whatever deity the ocean is, or will become, in your mythological future.

Mendocino Village lasted about a day and a half before, somewhere around the late afternoon, you wondered what on earth you were doing with the twenty-four-hour party brigade that sat around and talked all kinds of bull. (Let’s give a fine round of applause to the older folks. Congratulations on being such dicks.) You washed up in a skuzzy beach bathroom, and while you’ve had your fair share of murals drawn in feces, the one in Mendocino had a world-famous ecosystem at its disposal. “‘Even at its most sordid, life is a profoundly spiritual affair,’ I once said as I looked up from a gutter in the Tenderloin.”

In the night around your campfire in Mendocino, amidst twenty-odd drinkers and a classic old hobo (“Back in ‘Nam”, where Nam sounds like Ham) your ego was busted yet again by some thirty year old bitch who fussed at you for sagging your pants/a sardonic comment (“You must be Queen of the firewood” you said to Tizita, stroking her as she got back from her third collecting binge, you both smiling).
    “Don’t treat your girlfriend like that, or you won’t have her anymore. She’s so beautiful she can have anyone she wants, me included. She’s choosing to be with you.”
    “You’re perfectly entitled to your opinion,” You let go, nicely trying to brush her off. She kept at it, not understanding the humor Tizita and you shared (to an extent), and soon you and Tizita both left for the night in steely resignation. You don’t squabble. It’s a rule. Or you try not to. But you forgot your rule and felt shame only because of Tizita’s presence. By yourself, it wouldn’t have been a thing. But the presence of someone else, someone you had to “impress” (your whole relationship was built on impressing one another, you can see it that way), that presence made an otherwise shrug of the shoulders turn into a fast degradation of that nasty ego shit.

A trimmer showed you a spot in the woods to sleep, up the trail some miles from him, and so you pitched tent with her (the trimmer giving her hash oil for the ride), then you slept, walked Sammie Dog around in the morning and looked at a ten foot diameter redwood from its base up into the heavens, marveled for a few seconds, went back to town for coffee.

Jackie was quick to let everyone know the sudden reputation you developed for how you combated the bitch’s foolish cosmic fuckery the night before. You discovered the shit-slinging parade when you both arrived at their morning coffee shop habit to a bunch of hushed silence. An imposter you are! A pussy! You can’t hold your ground! You’re an oogle, a fake, a loser, a scapegoat, a black sheep, an asshole, a pariah! And look who’s next to you! She’s hot, she’s bi, she’s smart, she’s cool, she’s older than she is, she’s got moxie and smarts and—fuck, man, you found yourself a ‘trophy girlfriend’, which in any context other than this one would be grounds for celebration.

Later in the day came the coming of “Tiger Lily,” a college student with four friends, an Escalade,  plenty of booze. She was the rich social sensual fun-loving antithesis to your poor anti-social “tired all the time” attitude. From LA, brown-skinned, she talked shit all day and wasn’t street, more just new straight out of the bubble wrap, but smoking hot all the same. It was a shame. More of a shame was this scene’s got even more dreadful with “Tiger Lily’s” entrance, Jonathan making pretend-interest glances, Jackie eating that shit up, Blackbird a friendly type to all, Brock and Bebe a little irked at us about not returning their 420 favor, but important thing was Tizita wasn’t digging this scene either. And neither was the oogle Willem. So you and her and Willem went to the food bank up in Fort Bragg, came back, dropped him off, spent some more hours with the group and watched Jackie, the forty year old slimeball, make obscene gestures (while making moves and about to get laid with cute drunk young teenage Tiger Lily) toward the well-intentioned park rangers and then, like a child, getting hauled off by pigs belligerent, and you and her decide, very abruptly, to leave.

Back to Berkeley. Away from the douchery of Mendo. Away from shame. And so you went, the SS Blueberry your lifeline, becoming more apparent every day.


There were other people in Berkeley you came to meet. Moms selling pot out of their purses; fresh out of high school Book Guy; a stupid kid who got a piercing in the wrong place; another stupid kid who thought it was the most hilarious thing she ever heard (it was!); a forty-year old Jewish painter who didn’t give much to ‘Zerkeley politics, just sold his little four inch-by four inch paintings of marijuana nuggets, each one smiling as they rode in a rocketship, scrubbed themselves in a bathtub, went fishing; a bitch-ass-thirty-something who borrowed money from ex-girlfriends; a mother Erica and her seven year old wild son, ‘Xander; laughing hyena skinhead with face tattoos who lived by EAT OR BE EATEN; a fat crass obnoxious fun drunk and his airy greasy-haired girlfriend, each in their early thirties; a peace-loving hippienik couple; an old seaman who also had face tattoos and spoke mostly gibberish; a ‘rapper’ who sold verses to a UK Hip Hop artist—he read you a poem: THE HEROIN I HAD FOR BREAKFAST WAS A COLD CUP OF COFFEE ; some couple sleeping and fucking in the bushes in broad daylight at the south end of Peoples’ Park;  most denizens with dogs.

Dog etiquette is a necessity. DOG OUT a common phrase for all when a dog is all up in your shit, but beyond that—you watch your dog. They’re aggressive, get on that muthafucka. They still have their parts, get on that muthafucka. If they’re cool, then cool, otherwise, keep your dog away. You don’t get after someone else for how they discipline their dog (no matter how cruel), and you don’t discipline someone else’s dog unless they’re fucking your shit up. Then dogs have their own etiquette. Sniff. Hump. Jump. Run. Poop. Etc. And no matter what, don’t kick another kid’s dog unless you gotta reason.

You first met EZMac on his way north after he kicked some dude’s dog and almost duked it out with him. EZMac smoked with you all day, sores on his arms and lips, somebody Tizita knew from Seattle (“Last time I saw you, you were gonna get thrown through a window”)—he’s an insufferable guy, black curls, skinny as shit, baseball cap and skateboard, arrogant as all fuck, likeable.

EZMac had a thing for a girl Chrysanthemum, white blond early twenties broken glasses junkie, and Chrysanthemum had a thing with bitch-ass-thirty-something-who-borrows-money-from-ex-girlfriends,­ and bitch-ass-thirty-something had a thing for this cute smiley girl Ganj that would make ends meet selling smudge sticks, and the cute smiley girl Ganj had a thing for your street-rigged constipated muthatruckin’ ass. It’s all in the eyes, man.

So Chrysanthemum and bitch-ass had an argument, her trying to figure out where her trust-fund check went, him denying every plausibility, including ones which left him off the hook. “I told you, I don’t have it” – “You had it last night.” – “Yeah but alotta things happened between then and now, shit”—“So where is it?” – “I don’t have it” – blah, blah, blah. Eventually EZMac got into it, taking off his shirt and throwing accusations at Bitch-ass. Bitch-ass threw a punch at EZMac. EZMac took his board and chucked it at Bitch-ass. Bitch-ass ran.

In misogynist glory, EZMac put his arm around Chrysanthemum and asked her, “How much money?”

Not that EZMac had any money. He was on his way to Portland to get back to his baby-mamma and their son. He was twenty. “I’m tryin’ to get to Portland” he kept saying. Later that day, after Chrysanthemum hung with y’all for a bit, EZMac and her went off somewhere.
    “To tweak out,” said Tizita. And then she added, “and maybe fuck.” With Tizita it was always about sex—who’s fucking who and why; someone else’s smile easily translated to, “That guy wants a threesome.”

The next morning, around eleven, you were robbed. Tizita’s friend Lost just re-upped you an ounce, and as you sat there eyeing the comings and goings at the park, a group of motherfuckers from Oakland drove up in a flame-decaled SUV. They hung out for a tad, stopping at someone else’s sell-spot and getting turned down before coming in your direction. You weren’t paying attention. You were just stoned and relaxed and evermore tired. So when they played the distraction, “Can I get a two dolla sack?” you didn’t quite notice that one of ‘em came up behind you and took your jar with three quarters of an o inside it. And then the chase began, Tizita running after them screaming “FUCK YOU NIGGERS!” and them laughing as they drove away in their SUV, you just watching like a sheep. It must have been humiliating for Tizita ‘cus this was low—lower than pulling a knife or any other weapon—and no one came to her rescue.

You kept muttering asinine curses under your breath like a mantra, another nail on your coffin, Tizita crying out of shame. She went off to visit Zander and Pebbles who were posted up on Telegraph, meanwhile you cursed and spat and walked in circles, then calling an old friend in a vain attempt to help. You failed her, again. You sat there and watched as your means went to their fucked ends. You didn’t try to help her as she screamed and ran around the park after them, fists pumped in complete fury and rage—which, by the way, was beautiful. The schoolyard grace. The raw anger. It made you remember a time when she told you about getting arrested once. She fucked up drunk one night and as her face was on the concrete, her hands cuffed together she screamed IS THAT THE BEST YOU GOT MOTHERFUCKERS?! with dark angel marks on her wrists, where a small tattoo of a winged heart made its symbolic home.

Everything went back to normal pretty quickly for how dramatic the event seemed to be. The supplier, Lost, forgave the debt right away, Tizita was good to go after a bowl and some time away, you being unsurprised and startled at the same time. A church came later that day, starting with a few ‘good Christians’ out to end poverty interrupting a gigantic circle between the pot-moms, EZMac, miscellaneous individuals, Fred the Wingnut, a newly arrived Beau, the circle eventually dispersing, mumbles of Jesus Freaks! coming from every direction. “No one wants your help here,” said a regular as the crowd of the Christians got bigger. Then the Church’s cheerleading routine started. The song was the straight pop “Call Me Maybe” – Fourteen fifteen sixteen year old girls wagging their asses and A-cup tits at the homeless populations of a (super?)-urban center was sickening, you almost wanted to cry, Jesus. Save us already.

Speaking of saving, Erica’s kid ‘Xander hung out with you and Tizita for a bit, taking a liking to you, playing pretend, making a nest and roosting like a hen. Blond locks, green eyes, gave and received all kinds of gifts. That night you wound up outside a Dead show per Beau’s invite, so you and Tizita smoked and drank on the sidewalk with all the other Heads, trading Magic: The Gathering lessons from ‘Xander for Yu-Gi-Oh! Lessons from you.

This kid was so interested in the differences between demons and angels, and though he really liked some of the devilish characters in these trading card games, he avoided older, drugged-out men in real life like the plague.

He whispered in your ear and gave you chills. “You are an angel.”

(“Open wide the portals.”)
You never experienced anything like it again.

In the middle of the night you were woken up by a BPD officer telling you not to sleep in the car—(where else were you gonna sleep, having out of state plates being the first damn clue)—He was quite nice about it, and so were you, though he started by claiming that you didn’t have current registration on the vehicle. He misread the sticker. Enough for Tizita to call him an idiot. Turned out to be a twist of fate.

You re-parked the car in a different neighborhood and woke up having to take a leak so bad your stomach hurt. So you clamored around and found an ‘alley’ only to interrupt a transgender man’s morning routine.
    “Sorry, ma’am!” You cried, making a run for it. You were on his property, after all.
    “I’m no woman,” the man said. Oops.
And then something weirder happened. You got back to car, brushed your teeth, started that morning cigarette, and an elderly woman named Phyllis approached you from her home (which you were parked in front of.) She proceeded to sympathize, thinking it was poverty that got you sleeping in the car (it was) and gave you a sand-dollar shell, opening the conversation with, “It’s a beautiful last day isn’t it?” Phyllis went on to tell you bits of her life story, her WWII Navy vet/chemist/oil entrepreneur late husband, her son and his battle for employment, her growing up in Depression-era Connecticut, how it was time. Tizita and you toasted in her honor at your friend Michael’s place that night. It was the night before April 20th, before the holiday. Guess you could say it was ‘Four-Twenty-Eve,’ because weed is religious. It is a ritual. Like breaking bread. Communion. Setting up a Christmas Tree. Love-making. Marihuana is prayer and everyone that smoked it was on a pilgrimage.

The morning of April twentieth held dew in her palm, and as you rose with the birds and watched the sun rise over the apartments and hills and trees in Willard Park, Berkeley, you melted. Tizita practiced what was called Sun-gazing, and so after a morning joint and yoga, you and her gazed into the source of life on this planet. You thought it quite apt.

“I wash my face with baking soda, eschewing the unpronounceable for peace of mind. It has been ingrained in me to floss whenever possible. I’ve got time. Today is an empty day and therefore a telling one. I don’t have work to blame for my lack of contact with Amber. It’s really mostly the pregnancy. She sleeps almost sixteen hours a day. Tomorrow will be better because I know she’ll make the effort to come to the farmer’s market with me, but today the house is quiet, and so is my mind. Don’t let my overly-analytical recollections mislead you. I was happy today. I fried vegetables and baked cupcakes. I washed dishes and made my bed. I read Lolita and watched South Park and I knitted some successful knitting-things. But the house was quiet and I know all-too-well how sweet our little household could sound…”

Afterward you developed a plan to get to the festivities at Golden Gate Park. Leaving Sammy D with Erica, you left the SS Blueberry in Berkeley (forget about parking in downtown San Francisco on a day like this) and hopped on the train at the local BART station, getting to the park around four in the afternoon, right before the big minute (smoking 420 at 4:20 on 4/20 is good luck, so they say). You found a spot a little ways from the entrance to the park and rolled one up.

There were all kinds of people there, but not ones you’d like to chill with. Whole families walked around in costume like it was the Renaissance Faire. Bros, shirtless, some in A-necks, with Buddy Holly glasses, they filled the park with nauseous fumes of Axe and bad pot. Hippie Hill, the center of all the commotion, was a sea of people. You and Tizita posted up on a small patch of grass pretending that it was a day at the beach, complete with a tie-dye sheet to lie on, a hookah, plenty of rolling papers.

That’s when you were approached by a white guy Joseph with ‘fortune-telling’ dice. Of his own making. He told you that it was a cross between Tarot, astrological signs, and street signs—the symbols on the dice are a mix of the three, rather, and that with all four dice you could figure out your immediate future. But he didn’t quite exactly know how. Or even what the symbols meant.
    “They have no definite meaning,” Joseph said. “It’s up to the dice-roller’s interpretation.”
    “Sounds like bullshit,” you said as you exhaled, smoke billowing over your spot in the park. He shrugged and offered for you to try. Tizita was going crazy over them. Her roll consisted of a lion, a heart, a lock, and what looked like a one-way sign. Tizita was a Leo. You were a Leo. She loved lions. You loved lions. Cool. The second die was alright, but associated with the third die made you uneasy. And then the one-way sign … you knew things were going downhill between you and her, still waiting on that phone call from the CCC to get started working, sick of each other sleeping in the car every night, you wishing you could take a shit in a clean bathroom for once, smelling each other’s farts and hearing each other snore, you not making any money yourself just hanging out with Tizita all day while she took charge selling, but still you wondered what ‘one way’ meant, exactly.

Your roll, on the other hand, was a dog, a cloud with lightning, a deer crossing, and another lock. You saw it as irrelevant.

(Nothing is irrelevant.)

Golden Gate Park was where you met Doverakka and his brother, Pony. Fresh from the freight train-yard, they were traveling kids originally from Texas, and between the two of them have crossed half the globe. They were proud and for a long time talked India, Tibet, China, Morocco, Mexico, France. Doverakka was the older one while Pony was the wiser. Pony often quoted the Tao te Ching,  introducing it into casual conversation, making Tizita gush and you a little jealous. But enough about them…

You decided to wander around San Francisco proper the rest of the evening, walking down Haight, window-shopping, taking in the Victorian architecture, looking at the infamous Haight-Ashbury street-sign. Eventually, you wound up back on the BART and then back to the Park, home a block away. It was ten o’clock in the evening, not a soul in sight.

Tizita said, “I don’t really feel like going to sleep. I’m going to go talk to Erica and get Sammy D.”
“Okay,” you said, “Well, I’m going to bed. I’ll leave the car unlocked.” And you did just that, falling asleep to National Public Radio (it was BBC’s World News Hour), waking up to an empty car at six in the morning, your loins missing her small beautiful brown butt in your routine.

TEN (Dick Dale’s Bonsai Washout)

You got yourself a cup of coffee, oddly curious and partly knowing of Tizita’s whereabouts. You yelled in a moment of panic for the first time in six months as you dropped your coffee on the south side of Telegraph. Then you kicked it to the Med and sat there for three hours refilling your cup, smoking cigarettes next to the obscenity-screaming Wingnut (YOU’RE A PIECE OF SHIT BABY FUCKER SITHERING IN YOUR OWN MOTHER’S VOMIT YOU DISGUST ME YOU SLIME-LIZARD-WORM-EATING-SHIT-LORD-CUNT-NUGGET-FACTORY fuckface DICKEATER!)
(ah peace in chaos)
until EZMac came in and asked if you played Magic.
“Nah, man. Chess?”
And you played chess with EZMac, talking nothing, girls, he gave you this whole story of how he got kicked out of his parents’ place and only heard of his son’s birth when he was in LA six months ago. “Been tryin’ to get there ever since, I just wanna see my kid, man—”

Somewhere in your head surf rock began to play. That’s when you saw it. The flame-decaled SUV. Orange. Yellow. Four pricks got out of it and came in the Med. You saw ‘em from your place on the second floor, toward the back. You looked to EZMac. He already knew. But you needed a plan. Two against four, you needed a plan. Fuck with their car. That’s the plan. He grabbed his board and you your backpack and made the move. You tripped down a few stairs but no one noticed and tension built in your heart. Adrenaline came as you slyly slipped past them, but one noticed you and smiled. Shit.
“Hey, buddy! Gotta ‘nother two-dollar sack?”

And EZMac grabbed a patio chair from outside and went to town on the SUV, screaming, “FUCK YOU NIGGERS!”, glass shattering everywhere, making a scene, people staring, and you booked it out the door with all four beefy Oakland motherfuckers chasin’ ya down saying variations of (WE GONNA LYNCH SOME NIGGAS TO-NIGHT!) EZMac splitting ‘em up and jamming the other way, across the street, threatening two of the dudes with his board. But you were quickly outmatched and gotta kick to the head.

“Oh, shit, a train run you over or something!” It was Beau, with flask. Gave some to you. Daylight. Afternoon. Then Beau said, “OK, Come on, we gotta get you out of here.”
“Just out of the way. You don’t want to be around here.”
“How long was I”—
“Five minutes. Okay, let’s go.”
And you hobbled to the park. You said, “You saw”—
“You needa learn how to run faster”—
“I can’t feel my face.”
“Yeah, you’re bleeding.”

    You laughed nervously, shaking, and sat in the circle on the south end. A man sat there. He said, “Now you look like you could use a drink,” and he handed you a freshly bought fifth of Wild Turkey. A little expensive for the crowd you’re with but hey. You drank and asked, “What’s your name?”
    “Ace, kid.”
    Beau and Ace laughed like Ace having to introduce himself was the funniest shit and you worked up the energy to go clean your face in the bathroom. Back in the circle was this ghoul-of-a-dude yakking on and on about how meth is better than coffee, that when he wants to smoke crack, he’ll go to the Tenderloin—“Because the cops don’t give a shit in the TL, Am I right?” Yeah. Right in front of this very impressionable fifteen year old fuckin’ kid, and the kid’s getting into it, and the ghoul kept giving her the eyes and the fifteen year old kid kept starin’ at this asshole, making you sick. You wanted to punch the sadness away. You started thinking about it and you felt lost as all hell.

(All us ghosts are lost!)

You called Michael when dark came and you went back to his place and you very drunkenly wondered where Tizita was. Left her a reasonable two texts and two calls spaced conservatively, but got her voicemail the second time. Fucked shit. You fell asleep on Michael’s couch watching, in blatant misery, a terrible British sitcom, Berkeley PD sirens getting louder in your head, barely sleeping and instead imagining scenarios of her disappearance. She had an o and a half on her…and this place’s justice system can go either way when it comes to intent to sell—but there are other options. Michael and you walked around, again talking nothing. Fuck man, she left you.

ELEVEN (Soulmates)

You sat in the circle by yourself the next morning, watching the regulars eat breakfast provided by the Catholic Worker Movement and felt sick to your stomach. You made small talk with another of Tizita’s friends, Red. You told him you hadn’t seen her and you were worried, with him giving advice like ‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much, I’m sure she’s ok’, blond dreads mushroom stems in his backpack girl troubles of his own nice guy though really, and some time later you noticed Sammy D and his iconic red leash sniffing bushes at the southeast end of Peoples’ Park. Tizita was somewhere close. So you asked the dude who was watching him and he told you some story of a motel room, and how Tizita’s at the Med.

You walked there knowing without anyone saying anything.

The guy she was holding hands with was a little taller than you, long straight black hair, black beard, wore a cap sporting the comic book villain Dr Doom, skinny as fuck, called by most as IS.  The way she looked at him, and then the innocent smile when she looked at you, you in disbelief, betrayed, shocked, whatever. That’s how it ended, really. Everything else was just a downhill shitstorm. She gave you a small smile, the smile you fall for every-time but not this time. No.

You and her talked, really it was mostly you, who kept saying things like, “Got anything to say? Anything at all?” She remained silent, on a molly comedown. The story Tizita gave you was something along the lines of: she saw Erika that night, took some molly, and ‘fell in love’ with her ‘soulmate’ IS.
“Oh really?” You asked through a drag. “Soulmate, huh? You’re shitting me.”
“No, I’m not. He’s my soulmate.”
“How do you know that? You just met the guy.”
“I just know.”
“Did you guys talk?”
“Not really. Just stared into each other’s eyes.”
“That’s all you did?”
“We made out a little.”
“Uh-huh. One night, that’s all it took. One night.”
Silence. “Well who are you sleeping with tonight?” The tone was meant to be sympathetic, but it ended up being full of venom. She gave you a shrug.
“Are you going to keep doing this? Jumping from guy to guy, from rock to rock? You coulda called me, coulda texted me. I was worried about you. Thought you were in jail or something”— Michael came by on accident ‘cus his apartment was close by. He knew and left and you were gonna meet up with him later.

Eventually, you guilted her into staying with you, if for the moment. The plan was to ditch Berkeley and stay in Ukiah until the long-awaited phone call from Chris at the CCC. $40 would get you there, so you spent the rest of the day spanging by yourself. Eight bucks in two hours. Tizita made $100 selling meanwhile. But tension was high. You didn’t want to guilt her, you just wish she saw things your way, but you weren’t being very cool about it.

You just couldn’t get over it—you later asking, “Do you even like me or am I just a means to end for you?”
“I like you sometimes.”

You got another $40 from your mother in quick desperation and landed a motel room for the night. You smoked in the room and spent hours saying nothing, watching a fictional movie about a young white boy and his white mother in Africa, how he came down with malaria and her rushing him to the hospital a thousand miles away, minutes too late, him dying and her coping afterward, the whole thing mad depressing. You had some violent sex the next morning, full of rage and fury and her orgiastic face made you want to strangle her.

How dare she enjoy anything! She fucked with you, had her way, and was having her way right then. You wanted to throw a fist at her stupid face, wanted to throw her across the room. “Listen, you caused me lots of fucking trouble and you shafted me and now you’re going to pretend like everything’s okay, no consideration?” Blahblah, you didn’t say it though, it was too destructive you knew; you wished you let out your wrath but instead you just threw her off you and resigned. She felt that. And it was over.

Coloring books again. Listened to local radio station—
“Let me tell you about gun control. It’s ‘cus of those conservative asinine NRA members that we have Sandy Hook, Aurora, Columbine, Virginia Tech. It’s ‘cus of the NRA that we have terrible murder rates across the country, way above any other first world nation. Well we don’t like the NRA up here. We don’t like Sarah Palin. We don’t like guns. Guns are the reason that the republicans want more guns in the first place. Just one man’s opinion but I think we need to outlaw guns in this country, or anywhere. It’s just common sense people.”

Waiting around. Called Chris, said two weeks til orientation. Mother’s Day was coming up. She decided to go home and see her mom for the first time in two years. You decided to follow suit, your mother buying you a Greyhound ticket from Oakland to Flagstaff, AZ. She lived on a reservation on Hopi land. Tizita had a social worker friend who lived in Oakland and could take care of the car, keep it safe for a few weeks. You knew that meant Tizita had leverage so you tried to play nice with her. And pray that nothing stupid was going to happen to the car, the only way out of the chaos in Bezerkeley, the lifestyles of hard-drugged-out-party-cats, the loose morals and misunderstandings and underestimations and dirty looks of all the fuckers you met throughout the ordeal. Tizita gave you a bad feeling in your stomach. Or rather, what she meant—rejection, the duality of hard-assery and niceness, of humanity and animalistic hedonism. You and her were both guilty of it.

(One could talk about agency, empowerment, identity, dependency, attachment, non-attachment, high self-esteem, low self-esteem, independence, interdependence, mutual aid, selfishness, the freedom of choice, ownership, power structures, invalidation, emotion, free will, integrity, self-discipline or knowledge, right and wrong by self or by others, amorality, falling in love too easily, being an asshole, the list goes on. But when one gets down to it, there’s the truth that is said and there is the truth that is unsaid. In Tao-like fashion, all of us shall not breach the integrity of the unsaid truth.)

And trying to keep peace you two made it through, her giving you a final kiss outside the Greyhound station in Oakland. It either meant see you in two weeks or goodbye. You already knew which option you wanted. You became an asshole, she was, is, and will be free.

The Greyhound left at 5 in the afternoon and you were to stay on it all night, arriving in LA in the middle of the night, Phoenix in the morning, Flagstaff at around 1 pm the next day. From there, a three hour drive through the desert. And then to a small little house with the front-porch looking at an elementary school your mother taught at. Safety. Security. No pot. No hassles. No fear of jail or robbery or violence. No drugs. No trust issues. No bad jokes. Just the desert, just music, just your mom. Food. Comfort. A firepit. Solitude.

You met some people on the Greyhound, one a wack kid Jon with a dark air and hood mentality, another street-kiddo from Boston that was thrown through a similar ringer as you. His was more intense. He was on his way cross-country. Then there was thirty-something Jake who reminded you of your seventh grade gym teacher, who sported glasses and tried to sell you molly. You all smoked bowls in Blythe, CA on one of those Greyhound ten minute pit-stops. You took the last leg alone from Phoenix to Flagstaff and sat in the chilly mountain town for an hour before the arrival of your mom. The lessons Jake and the kid from Boston gave were as follows—don’t trust women. Boston’s girl left him for a trimmer over-night, taking his sleeping pack with her. Jake’s wife left him for another man after a seven year marriage and two kids.

In Tizita’s defense, you made too much of a deal about her actions; you confronted her and made her feel like shit. But the opinions of others, of Tizita herself, of what another would do in the situation, made you feel as if you’ve been stepped on, that you were less of a person than she was, that to keep her you had to get mad, to keep her you had to abuse her, to appease yourself you had to take care of yours. “We’re on different levels” Tizita said, toward the end. She lied to you, kept secrets the whole time, didn’t follow up, and developed feelings for somebody else. You didn’t want to be that guy but you were. You weren’t friends like she said; you were lovers, partners. You gave her flowers to put in her hair, she gave you California. You didn’t want to be against your partner. And that’s what it all turned into.

If it was a test she gave you, you didn’t fail. You crumpled it up and threw it away. ‘Cus if you and her mattered, she didn’t need to test it. She didn’t need to see what would happen. No fighting. You didn’t punch the guy even though you said you would; never looked him in the eye either. Never said a word to him. Tizita, the independent girl that she was, she was the one at fault.

You weren’t even angry. Just lost.

You and Tizita discussed seeing other people way back when you first met her.
“What is this?” You asked her.
“This? We’re partners-in-crime.” She said. The insinuations were there. Made sense at the time and you liked that idea, especially with all the new kids you were meeting, and it was re-evaluated when you decided to leave Vegas for California.

You. “I’m not just your friend, dude. I want you to know that.” Eye-contact.
Her. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll be alright. You’re too cool for Vegas, and I want to show you Berkeley!” Touch on the thigh.

You. “I want you to show me Berkeley.” Smile. Make out. You and Tizita never referred back to your status as a couple once on the road, and the partner-in-crime bit was awesome when you had a bed and a job and a car and school and you knew your way around your hometown and you weren’t around her twenty-four seven; not in Berkeley with strangers and people that could flip on a dime. Even EZMac you couldn’t exactly trust, the closest friend you had there, and Michael had his own things to worry about (and he did plenty to help you anyway)—but all that’s beside the point. Polyamory would have been fine if you weren’t so dependent on her. And if the situation was talked about before it happened, where it wasn’t a breach of trust. And then there’s Tizita’s own hypocrisy. Way back when, around the same time as the partner-in-crime-bit, you were flirting with Melody and it should have been OK but Tizita said it wasn’t. You respected her wishes. Oh what a fool you were!

(Let it go.)

Let it go. Let it go.
Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.

It never sounds as good as the first time you say it, does it?

(Hey you know what? Just let her go.)

You pondered all of this in Arizona, keeping minimal contact to make sure nothing would happen to the car, the lifeline. Rain swept through. Keams Canyon, Arizona was split between Hopi and Navajo land. The village itself was one gas-station and restaurant big, a post office around the corner, homes grouped in circles of road, separated from each other by miles of highway. There were stray dogs everywhere, the general consensus being to place food out for them and let them roam free. They had their own hierarchy, with some fighting each other for alpha status, most of them still having their junk. The townie kids would make the dogs fight each other, or do other terrible things which resulted in extensive injury, limping, death. When you were younger all you wanted to do was snuggle up with a pup, not fuck with it—what’s up with that?

There was a trail behind the house that led up a hillside covered in sage-brush and mud, the horizon flat but littered with canyons. At the top of the hillside was a field of wildflowers.

    “I stand among the brush staring at the sky, listening to mirror-clear water dribble down from a desert spring, looking at the canyon in front of me, strips of sandstone and red rocks powdered with trees and dust.
    The canyon taunts me, saying, “You’ll never be as wise as me, I’ve been sitting here for thousands of years, I’ve watched you people build your towns and kill each other but it doesn’t matter to me, you’ll be gone long before I am, I grow larger with each winter anyway.”
    Whereas the brush says, “grow, Grow, GROW!”
    and creek water echoes, “This too shall pass,” referring to the inexplicable transience of all things,
    and animals hidden in their burrows say nothing, they can’t talk (this is no Disney movie dig?)
    and the sky big blue beautiful whines, “I’m hungry, let me just eat you up, my mouth is big enough for all your worlds to fit in sixty times over,”
    and an old mesquite a mile away calls out, “Hey nowhere-kid! Come pick my berries and be a child and live like everything is new,”
    and the pebbles in the creek bed scream out, “You call yourself balanced but you can’t be so small yet as large as we are,”
    and Canyon says, “They have a point, kid,”
    and the bushes around me keep chanting, “GROW YOU HUMANOID!”
    and Sky, after burping, having already eaten us, contently whispers, “You’re still here, see?”
    And all the while I’m standing barefoot in the creek bed, seeing my hand four inches down in the pool, clear and pure and full of energy, energy that makes me feel

    “Move,” says the wind. I see my hand four inches down in the pool and forget my past, the only thing that ever mattered is right now, a newborn peaking through past the womb and into the world, and I poked through, if only for a moment, to see beyond this earth, this rock, this planet
    and the wind says, “Listen.”
    Then the Canyon says, “You’ll see. Or you might never see.”
    I take that comment and throw it back. “You’ve always seen, Canyon! How can you know what it’s like not to see?! How can you know what it’s like to doubt it all? To not believe in it?”
    --To which the Canyon big heavy brown says “Childe, I’ve been around much longer than you think.”

You saw one on the highway one afternoon while running an errand. She could have been there twelve hours or so, tongue hanging out, flies, cars having to swerve to miss the corpse. You ran home and got a shovel, and with an acquaintance named Andy you buried the pup three feet deep in red Arizona sand. The death of this dog echoed the impermanence of all things. It symbolized the whole. Burying the creature was respecting her. Burying that dog was respecting impermanence.

Andy was a First Mesa local who was going to school in Albuquerque but was home in Arizona on break from school. He was a nice boy, worked hard, wanted to do clerical medicine work, but was emotionally drained. He lived for too many people and not himself.

“Healers blue-green twirl while the tortured
scream all pineapple’d in the streets.

And I have a headache the size of Madison, Wisconsin,
where you’re from, let me sleep.

Holes in your bus pass, older gentleman makes
a pass, the clouds pass, and I pass

too. Healers yellow-orange fill
the kitchens, the sidewalks, the porches--

Have a toast to twisted parachutes,
to hairy fun in the back door,

venom out the front door, children who
attack stray dogs with tire irons.”

THIRTEEN (Antennas to Heaven: Moments of Discernment)

Mother’s Day you watched Raising Arizona at four in the morning. Cleared the table, picked some flowers, cooked, cleaned, and gave mom the best damn breakfast. But it was time to go. Two weeks of introspection and shitty movies. You drove down to Phoenix from the reservation, a four hour drive through Arizona rain. Then the hard part of waiting alone in line for the bus, anxiety like a hornet’s nest. On the Greyhound back to LA you shared cigarettes (and your jacket) with an older toothless lady that had a laugh you still remember and shared some raps with some hood kids a few seats behind. There was a bigger divorced guy that was makin’ moves on this skinny loud-ass Church-going hoodrat chickita, who later gave you a little speech about ‘moments of discernment.’ Like you know, god is real.

God is real, motherfuckers. She he it we is the very reason why we’re all here—the ultimate Creative Force. The Holy.

“Your breath is sweet,
your eyes are like two jewels in the sky,
your back is straight, your hair is smooth, on the pillow
where you lie, but I don’t sense affection,
no gratitude or love, your loyalty is not with me,
but to the stars above.”

Moments of discernment, the lady was saying, are those tingly feelings you get when you know something else is driving us. Discerning the human from the astral, these little impressions and feelings can build to a deeper relationship with God, whether Christian or not. “Word, sister,” you said. That’s all you needed to say.

("And now I see learning like heavy clouds wide spread above you, rich with the promise of life-giving water, their deep shadows foretelling imminent rain and your hopes high for it. Seek, then, the rain which is in these clouds and wait patiently to see where it will fall. And make your plea to God who brings on the rain, who spreads wide the clouds, who removes famine, who gives freedom to the bound.

“And know that God gives life to the dead desert places by a drop of her merciful rain which he causes to fall upon them. Seek out these places which require and receive the life-giving rain and you, too, will be well watered. For surely the first light showers from these clouds will cure your ills and the steady rain which follows will wash away from your innermost being the leaning towards the things of this world. When this rain pours on your body it will wash away from you all your spiritual afflictions and when you taste it its exquisite flavor will kill all passion within your soul.”)

You were stuck in LA at two AM, shared stories with a 17 year old white suburban kid that was awaiting trial for moving pounds of marijuana from Sacramento across state lines into Arizona. He was telling you how he made bank for almost a year, six figures, spending it on cars and hookers for him and his friends—now he’s looking at ten years time in the prison system. An older hippie lady gave you advice on how to develop a relationship with pot instead of abusing it, as well as giving you a name to drop to gain access to a commune in the California desert, near Palm Springs. A small one, where one can make art out of rattlesnake corpses and help feed the chickens and live simply.

Tizita was up in Seattle visiting her mom for Mother’s Day too and was headed down to Oakland the next day, but as you picked up your car and deposited her stuff on her friends’ porch, you knew it wasn’t the end. It was only a statement. You didn’t want her to have her new boy’s hat, or a few of her prized possessions. You wanted her to feel the pain she caused you.

Or was the pain just butt-hurt? Did she even cause any pain? Is this nasty ego shit again? She’s a lover, and you made the mistake of trying to tie her down. But you were respectful at that moment. Or tried to be. You wrote her a note that started with BEAUTIFUL SOUL and you meant it.

Goddamn, the sun in Berkeley couldn’t shake the terror. WHY ARE WE ALL SO AFRAID OF BEING ALONE?

You called to tell her what was what and she was flippant as all hell and hung up on you. You could still smell her in your car, you had memories and abalone shells, and you still wanted to be with her, but no respect was just that. No respect. Had to put the foot down. Had to, in this misogynist world, be a man and give into anger—if you wanted to earn respect for yourself.

“I open you. I mix you. I covet you. I shape you. I keep you. I radicalize you. I tail you. I enumerate you. I condone you. I time you. I clip you. I console you. I paint you. I show you. I pass you. I fish you. I glory you. I commemorate you. I possess you. I reminisce of you. I name you. I snark at you. I withdraw. I predate you. I condense you. I realize you. I release you. I persist. I polarize you. I perform you. I call you. I request you. I confirm you. I cap you. I freeze you. I tell you. I give you. I crown you. I mine you. I fear you. I miss you. I will you. I store you. I shower you. I loan you. I inherit you. I scrap you. I roll you. I pronounce you. I wake you. I slow you. I serve you. I witness you. I demand you. I fold you. I police you. I shrivel you. I have you. I treat you. I dig you. I complete you. I raft you. I spark you. I shadow you. I get you. I close you. I rehydrate you. I prepackage you. I remember you. I raise you. I slash you. I expect you. I sting you. I prepare you. I misplace you. I trash you. I darken you. I consider you. I praise you. I know you. I heat you. I sink you. I swim in you. I direct you. I place you. I head you. I wear you. I swell you. I blanket you. I steer you. I scrub you. I disgust you. I deceive you. I balm you. I chain you. I emaciate you. I dodge you. I batter you. I anticipate you. I mean you. I capitalize you. I tell you. I discuss you. I reconsider you. I demean you. I announce you. I thumb you. I dot you. I wash you. I crowd you. I count you. I persuade you. I debase you. I accompany you. I hook you. I humanize you. I allow you. I applaud you. I owe you. I see you, boy.”

You left Bezerkeley due north up to Seattle, Washington. To start over. Again. You blasted the radio and drove naked up the I-5 corridor, planning to reach Portland by four AM and reach your friend who had a place up there. Tizita, eight months later, would ask, “Did you really drive naked?” Fuck yes, you did.

That night gave some stress—broken phone, low on gas, making it through the night driving straight up through Oregon, first wanting to break clean and never see her again, then wishing you could make things right, then wanting to see her one last time. You asked a gas station clerk in Redding,
    “What do you do if your woman doesn’t respect you?”
    “Nothing you can do. Move on.” So much anger you couldn’t just let it go. You had your pride to factor in. Around midnight it started to rain. Around two you started to immerse yourself in panicked focus. Around three you made it through Eugene, and at 3:36 in the morning you were attempting to pass a semi-truck that was in the right lane, rain starting to fall, when out of the brush a doe appeared. You braked and swerved into the shoulder, away from the semi but into the deer, and with a THWAP! she fell underneath your driver’s side tire. You didn’t even get out to look at her, nor the damage to the car, until you arrived to the morning sunrise over downtown Portland, and prayed, making a plea—to the thing that is at the center of everything—that everything would end up O.K. You coulda swerved the other way to miss the deer and get squashed under the semi, but you didn’t.

Hah! That doe meant so many things! The death of something and the transition to something else! The line between sacrifice and ‘looking after yours’! Between being human and being a survivalist. One small moment. That’s all it takes. You wondered that if deer had a consciousness, would their whole life flash in the brights of your one-ton Chevy?

But it wasn’t over. You had one more thing to do. One more line to cut.

You waited in the cold morning, buying a dollar cup of coffee and sitting in front of the Greyhound station chain-smoking. People floated this way and that. The car was a wreck. The deer took out a headlight with her, and hairs were stuck to the bumper. You could smell her still, and in your haste you made a friend.

He was in his fifties, a self-proclaimed gear-head, started off by trying to pawn a Seattle Seahawks switchblade for five bucks. You made the trade, shared cigarettes and talked ‘street-girls’—how to deal with ‘em, how to not get emotionally vulnerable or attached, how to just not give a fuck—it’s life, he said. You bought his shit ‘cus you were vulnerable right then as well. Funny how that works. Tizita was better than that, you were too, you wanted to think. He kept missing his train, on Amtrak’s version of stand-by.
    “So why are you here?” He asked.
    “Trying to figure that out myself, man.”
    “Is it a girl?”
    “How’d you know?
    “You wanna fuck her again.”
    “Nah man, not really.”
    “Well, then what?”
    “Sex would be nice, but no. I just wanna see her again. Give her some of her shit back.”
    “She’s not your girl no more.”
    “Fuck, man, I know.”
    “Make her feel like you’re too good for her.”
    “How do I do that?”
    “Well, you made your first mistake. You’re here.”
    “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
After seeing her in person some hours later, he would say, “You are too good for her.”
    But between those stretches, he gave you some car advice. He went and smoked some meth. You found a booklet that started with, “JESUS SAVES” with a little smiley face on it. Waiting in purgatory, you daydreamed of being saved from the damning forces of life. Gearhead came back. A teenage girl on a guitar. Asking how to tune it.
    “Fuck if I know,” you said.
    Gearhead said, “You got one of those smart phones? There’s an”—
    Girl said, “app for that?”
    Gearhead said, “Hey, this kid’s pretty cool.”
    You said, “I wish I knew how to play.”
    Girl said, “Yeah, I don’t know how to tune it and there’s always some boy that says he knows and just screws it all up.”
    “I’m not that boy.” But without assuming the role of fixing what was broken.
    Gearhead left for a minute, but before that, he tried to make a pass at her for you. She smiled slightly, knowing, and you said something along the lines of, ‘fuck picking up women, dude. It’s like all these guys are a bunch of dogs.’
    “Yeah,” she laughed.
    You said, “My dad had this fish-tank when I was a kid, and we’d feed them and they’d swim up to the top and scoop up the flakes. Well one time I put the flakes by the little filter waterfall thing, and they kept shooting down and around, the fish not knowing what to do. I thought this was awesome. It was awesome, right? Looking at those flakes running inside the filter and back around and shit. This one fish had the bright idea to stay right at the lowest point where the flakes were going, and he’d just open his mouth and they’d fall right in.”
    After a second, she asked. “You’re comparing love to fish flakes?”
    “Well, yeah.”
    “Fuck you.” And she got up and left.
    “But I’m also comparing life to fish-flakes!” You shouted, and it was too late. You thought about that one for awhile.

    Around noon you saw Tizita, a new haircut, same earthy fingernails. She didn’t see you though. Gearhead made a plan. He said, “Pretend like you’re just going to the bathroom, then I’m going to shout out your name. You turn around and look at me, and she’s going to look at you and wonder what the hell you’re doing here. She’ll get up and come to you.”
    So you followed his advice, but there were too many nerves. You ended up looking her straight in the eyes with contempt. She gave you those doe eyes and smiled with a soft, “Hi,” before you shouted back at her, “Do you want your things or not?”
    “Can’t you just bring them to me?”
    And so it escalated, you ending up making a scene in front of the forty odd travelers. “SLUT!” And you pointed at a boy she was with. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER—YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE SHE’S BEEN!” It felt so good to release the anger, to stand up for your own, to be mad. You left. Gearhead followed suit, and he asked for a ride to the food-stamp office across the river in Vancouver.
    The last words in this argument were to her, with, “Why’d you have to ruin my bus trip?”
    So Gearhead talked shit about her and helped you validate yourself—for the first time since the trip began. It was much needed, though selfish at the same time. He called the sign you left for her in Oakland ‘classy.’  You waited with him while he got his food-stamps. Outside in the sunny April afternoon, you smoked and looked at the little JESUS SAVES book you picked up. On the inside cover it asked the fundamental question—Do you ever feel like no one really cares?
    So you asked the people coming and going that question. Most kept onward, pretending not to notice, but a mid-twenties metal-head walking by said, “I believe in Satan.” Yeah, okay buddy.
    You deleted Tizita’s number, dropped the Gearhead back off in downtown after a meaningful conversation—being street versus being domestic, how in living for yourself you don’t consider others, and then he smoked some more meth while you went to visit your friend, Josh.
    You drank champagne that night at Josh’s place, and left for your old college buddies the next day. Two weeks later Tizita decided to fuck around some more, first telling you she was pregnant, then herpes. One of those was a lie. You got on with your life, each day a promise to rise again, into the mystic.


Your father developed cancerous polyps in his colon so your mother flew you down to look after him. They removed five of them and, with chemo, there was a 7% chance of it coming back. Vegas heat swung you into lazy days, long nights. He did well for himself, even drove himself to chemo a few times. You met back up with Adam and Lily (with your friend Samwise just in case) and Tracks, the three year old boy, was the only one to notice you at first. After some awkward peace-talks, Adam threatened to stab you, just as he did to Lily some months before (with Lily laughing, saying, he means business.) Adam was the one that said, when you first met him—“You know how I know we’re family?” He pointed at his belly-button. “That’s our birthmark. Anyone that has this is apart of our family.” You flew back to the Seattle-Tacoma area not long after.

Tizita wanted to apologize and reconnect. So you met her among holiday shoppers in Seattle in a little anarchist bookshop at Pike’s Place, and as you saw her smile you could see it as real, even underneath the wig she wore. Tizita felt bad. She got lice it turned out, and was sent back home from sunny California. You parted ways, this time in peace, and again you got on a plane and went to Vegas for Christmas with nine days off of work. Sammy D, the lovable dog, passed away on Christmas morning. You woke up to Tizita’s sobbing phone-call. As she told you how they had found him, and how it was quite possible he was hit, or had just passed on his own, you couldn’t help but know that we are children, blind and terrified, attacking a few sad stray dogs with tire irons. Her story is still unfolding. Memory, indeed, is the past. But it is also present. And the future.

Written a few years ago. I wish the footnotes transfered. Thanks for reading!

Salty rancher spackle is to Earthy diva smackers as Swinging hotel number is to?
Rippling cling bread is to Three lizard chariots as Indigo lime tangent is to?
Nighttime reunion planet is to Nettle lane scuffle as Soaking spider rum is to?
Fancy trance logs are to Sticky fudge lather as Vivacious gator college is to?
Cheerful blossom face is to Secret tractor rocket as Canned gremlin emblems are to?
Jealous pitchfork generals are to Heartbreaking patchwork veranda as Folding robot noise is to?
Pretty rhino rash is to Lost locket vengeance as Back pocket weather is to?
Frosted candy sidewalk is to Sneaky kook code as Shiny waffle smoke is to?
Sapphire cloud romance is to Magnetic comet lava as Blue triangle envy is to?
Vanishing honey melody is to Thermal elf pajamas as Whistling iceboat shampoo is to?
Peach mint politics is to Frozen doll pennies as Rusty anchor catapult is to?
Swollen pony fever Throbbing sword kazoo as Silent turbine science is to?
Obese germ thunder is to Stacked lemon towers as Corrupt moon jockey is to?
Demented insect whistle is to Glass trophy cleanup as Purple geode bubble is to?
Nighttime razor slime is to Lacquered dragon maps as Tint paper mittens are to?
Sexy camel drops are to Velvet hooker shoes as Slippery red muffins are to?
Flying hot drool is to Pale chocolate telescope as Tin trumpet ballet is to?
Expensive puppy speed is to Flowered duck mirror as Cosmic needle factory is to?
Fractured laser doodles are to Cracked butter gravel as Rubber holster straps are to?
Majestic panther fortress is to Jeweled cork target as Iron swan taxi is to?
Poisonous pepper bouillon is to Erotic goat soap as Chrome feather pirates are to?
Digital gorilla scriptures are to Timid hunter stench as Frozen domino video is to?
Eccentric troll opera is to Transparent wax village as Spoiled coral agony is to?
Bizarre green metal is to Pillow eating hamster as Leather cavern flaps are to?
Eternal hurricane evidence is to Powdered rainbow perfume as Smoking yellow prune is to?
Liquid wish cleanser is to Exploding meadow ladders as Brittle rose hammer is to?
Caged foam filter is to Cherry balloon string as Ivory cactus spider is to?
Carbon puppet watch is to Sad kings compass as Elastic lace whiskers are to?
Nitrogen trolley dust is to Lazy elephant toffee as Orange toad choir is to?
Dark pole zodiac is to Blue finger blanket as Illegal bug nozzle is to?
Stinky towel cookies are to White jade caskets as Sticky snail tea is to?
Converting stellated caramels is to Mythic aerosol socks as Rubber raspberry jokes are to?
Flying clock carousel is to Whisky nut worms as Plastic fish platforms are to?
Queasy Vaseline queens are to Moody pigeon pills as Aqua mice fur is to?
Spotted bowl shadow is to Idiotic radiance lotion as Bungalow toad hearse is to?
Gushing chimney fungus is to Funky lamb acrobat as Utopian pimp sprinkler is to?
Twinkling bungalow tablet is to Botanical duck rope as Bug hat ram is to?
Broken clock fossil is to Black ginger confetti as Parisian cobra meatloaf is to?
Silly Xerox ribbon is to Obedient raccoon carny as Traditional cat linguini is to?
Last astral advisor is to Elastic badger riddles as Broken circle rifles are to?
Bagged squire channel is to Temporary mosaic cake as Ancient bacon thread is to?
Wireless math army is to Moronic neon money as Pearl razor radar is to?
Rubber buzzard blizzard is to Troubled bubble wizard as Crushed hash cracker is to?
Purple birdy cure is to Tangled frost blossoms as Silken bridal saddle is to?
Unisex owl accordion is to Sugar bottomed boat as Optical nougat treasure is to?
Flavored saline rain is to Black arrow clan as Transistorized clam guitar is to?
Sharpened twig scar is to Mutant beet sonar as Baked troll mask is to?
Boxed noodle secrets are to Traditional guru buttons as Glossy marshmallow strategy is to?
Vibrating melted jelly is to Silver furniture dream as Spewing collated seats is to?
Burnt mountain pickles are to Baby preacher shoes as Sympathetic pilot pain is to?
Narrow portal treaty is to Monkey warehouse vacancy as Painted tornado trap is to?
Porch penny sulfur is to Glowing pony fat as Patched mattress bait is to?
Frigid waitress fallacy is to Graphic shrimp salute as Misted sneezing window is to?
Moist apple moss is to Daddy’s zoom seed as Downtown Pope cart is to?
Tired felon trickle is to Holographic squirrel candle as Wild ray hay is to?
Deadly zero chalk is to Folding wilderness chart as Curved cracker vacuum is to?
Hollow porcelain pellets are to Strawberry rain stencils as Microwave taxi nomads are to?
Wasted machete balcony is to Crumpled creature confessions as Fridge fuzzed fruit is to?
Sloppy demon damage is to Squeaky puppet chuckle as Mental arcade combat is to?
Monster trout stories are to Lewd pirate cocktail as Locked mammal grommet is to?
Rotting rope network is to Tragic toy goat as Cotton submarine shoes are to?
Complex pepper dance is to Stoned cloud cushion as Marching taxi holiday is to?
Mental petal collectors are to Spooned barn putty as Dork factory fiction is to?
Hot spotted tops are to Timed stepping pests as Yogurt notching tartar is to?
Crazy dog comics are to Ambitious cartoon sphinx as Pavlov’s zinc ballet is to?
Soiled spinster wedding is to Padded razor wound as Floating fish map is to?
Slippery leopard pants are to Perfumed nut button as Dart wizard party is to?
Needy alien elephants are to Barking garden gnats as Quasar focused paper is to?
Slanted heart slut is to Bronzed cliff sandals are to Cunning jockey jokes are to?
Dirty thumbprint massage is to Holistic princess memory as Sliding dental sword is to?
Drifting wood whistle is to Fluorescent carpet powder as Foam dragon whistle is to?
Chopped web shadow is to Immortal vermin soup as Collapsing porch conspiracy is to?
Stolen thunder chant is to Haunted comet heart as Swollen throat portrait is to?
Fragrant frost parfait is to Grumpy caveman sex as Random stingray solo is to?
Squeaky polar turbine is to Silent lava fever as Oversized lunar fulcrum is to?
Synthetic dew droppers are to Pocket poster paste as Hypnotic screen dog is to?
Symbolic whirlpool nausea is to Dreaming tree phantom as Log badge bracket is to?
Camp hippo map is to Horseradish seizure insurance as Distant insect mirror is to?
German lady sherbet is to Stuntman laundry wax as Hungry butterfly ghost is to?
Fly smudged foil is to Amped maze coil as Shifting optic terror is to?
Automatic sheep floss is to Panoramic tanker anchor as Throbbing bone pillow is to?
Mutant clown village is to Nightmare translation treasure as Spotted spectral chakra is to?
Blind roach tweat is to Hermit worm tiara as Divine logo ritual is to?
Glueless gun stamp is to Malicious spam pump as Floral toffee pods are to?
Dudgeon mist removal is to Menacing bolt smacker as Boating duke shadow is to?
Costly metal plungers are to Creaky buzzing gushers as Glowing star cushions are to?
Raked barge sludge is to Crusted cream glitter as Zircon gutter babble is to?
Fake gold scholar is to Amish playboy mogul as Faithful moron choir is to?
Sacred limo prayers are to Fried mice café as Splintered rectal thimble is to?
Dealing rabbit decals is to Pelican bongo festival as Patched equator rot is to?
Freedom gourd gasoline is to Cobblers studying acorns as Desecrated dice crater is to?
Tattered tapestry rod is to Busted particle scanner as Bogus piffle catalogue is to?
Trifle truffle raffle is to Last lamb laminate as Segmented cake goggles are to?
Domestic tackle tactic is to Ticking tic talk as Cordial corps coordinates is to?
Tucked duck caftan is to Sunken ramp ruckus as Wretched ranch rhetoric is to?
Clearly incomprehensible directions are to Useful archaic nonsense as Antiquated skeletal outline is to?
Bewildered beasts feasting are to Lazy busybodies resting as Vaccinating brave volunteers are to?
Lucky wagon dragons are to Famous gargoyle gargle as Formal postman funding is to?
Furrowed shroud chowder is to Borrowed tartan pajamas as Martini mixed algebra is to?
Cowgirl balloon helium is to Chewy glucose habitat as Stationary monument movement is to?
Diamond powered powder is to Diagonal diameter diagram as Purposely condensed expansion is to?
Organic iodine capsule is to Gleaming beach probe as Dominant dome static is to?
Shaving wrinkled targets is to Petting sensible monsters as Selling invisible whiskey is to?
Frozen piano architecture is to Note dotted clouds as Screaming Korean worms are to?
Sonic plant website is to Telepathic climbing clam as Bored protein exercise is to?
Gourmet mollusk cone is to Numb poodle caravan as Asian raven radar is to?

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